


Communication Exercise

by alienqueequeg



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Spanking, Bondage, Consensual Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Mulder, Dom/sub, Edging, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Handcuffs, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, MSR, Mulder earns his red wings, Office Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Period Sex, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Spanking, Wax Play, collaring, facesitting, sub Scully
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-06-08 12:17:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15243228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alienqueequeg/pseuds/alienqueequeg
Summary: Scully has trouble communicating what she is into so Mulder tries to make it easier for her. Mostly shameless, kinky smut...





	1. Tell Me

“Are you okay?” he asked, as she curled up against the crook of his shoulder, just as much to avoid eye contact as to feel closer to him. 

“Of course.” She smiled into his skin and planted a kiss at the side of his collarbone. “Better than fine.” 

They were damp and sprawled across her bed. Another Saturday afternoon well spent. 

“You just seem a little, I don’t know, distant right now.” 

“I do?”

“Talk to me, Scully.” 

She sighed. She wasn’t getting out of this one easily. She had hoped to have more time to gather her thoughts, or maybe change her mind and never bring it up ever. 

They had been sleeping together for a few weeks now. It had been spectacular. Her senses had never felt more awakened and she had never felt more seen or appreciated in her entire life. Her partner was easily the most attractive man to ever worship her body, and the emotional intimacy they already shared took it to another level. She practically had an out-of-body experience the first time she came with him, though she would never admit that to him, knowing she would be inciting a rant about the connection between astral projection and human sexuality. 

It was mind blowing and world-shattering. And she was bored. Maybe that wasn’t fair. She was never bored when they were together. It wouldn’t be fair to say she was disappointed either; her expectations had been exceeded in so many meaningful ways. 

“Scully?” he inquired gently. “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No, no. Not at all. Sorry.” She lifted her head and smoothed her hair. “I just…”

He grimaced and she could tell he was bracing himself for the worst. 

“Sometimes I just feel like you touch me like I’m made of glass,” she blurted. “Does that make any sense?” 

“I”m not sure,” he said, confused. “You don’t want me to go slow?” 

“It’s not that.” She struggled to find the words. “You know I like it when you tease me.” They both smiled as they remembered the night before when he spent the entire first half of a vinyl record just kissing her skin everywhere. The second half of the record he spent teasing her pussy until she couldn’t take it any more and pulled his face against her while she bucked wildly for another world class orgasm, the Fox Mulder special. 

“Then what is it, Dana?” The use of her first name still gave her pangs. She wasn’t used to it, nor was she used to the pet names he had started to drop. She was constantly rearranging her perception of their relationship in her mind. Every reminder that something was different in their relationship (when they weren’t in bed, that is), shot her equally with exhilaration and deep set anxiety. Change was always going to be scary. 

“I guess I’m just trying to communicate to you that you can be, um, rougher? With me.” She winced at her words and wished she could crawl under the blankets to avoid looking at him right now. Mulder being Mulder, of course, he sat up so he could look her in the eye. 

“Hey.” He took her face between his hands and angled it at him. “Thank you for telling me. I never want you to feel embarrassed for telling me what you need.” 

“I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s a need,” she deflected. 

“Semantics,” he stated. “Okay, what are we talking about here? Hair pulling? Scratching? Handcuffs? Spanking? Anal?” He cocked his eyebrow at the last word.

“Whoa, cowboy. Settle down. Let’s take that one at a time, shall we? Hair pulling, sure. Within reason. Scratching, yes. Spanking and anal I might like try sometime. Now wipe that dopey grin off your face.” His grin only spread.

“I’m just surprised. Good Catholic girl and all.”

“Why should that be so surprising? I must be completely inhibited because of my upbringing or my career choice? I’ve had a sex life before you, Mulder.” The muscle in his jaw clenched. She pulled her knees close to her under the sheet, feeling herself shut down emotionally. “I’m not some ingenue.”

“And I don't see you that way.” He looked her dead in the eyes and placed both his palms at the top of his knees. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed. 

“So can we get back to the anal part?” he suggested eagerly. When she gave him a look, he backed off. “Sorry,” he said and put his hands up in surrender. “Please go on.” 

“Thanks, Mulder,” she said sarcastically. “Let’s forget I said anything.” 

“Absolutely not,” he stated. “You’re going to finish your thought and tell me what you need to tell me.” He sat up straighter and shut his mouth. 

“Okay.” She took a deep breath. “I get the impression that you are afraid of hurting me.” He nodded. This was not news to either of them. “But I think it would be better for me if you didn’t worry about it so much?” She grimaced internally at the up-speak, a vocal tick she had worked so hard to rid herself of through medical school and her subsequent careers. 

“I hear what you are saying, Scully,” he said sincerely. “I just need to know that this looks like to you, to us. I can’t read your mind.” 

If he could read her mind, he would see the fantasies that had so occupied her mind through the last seven years. Mulder picking her up and throwing her on the bed like a rag doll. Mulder fucking her up against the wall of their office with a fist full of her hair, exposing her neck to his cruel teeth. Mulder fucking her face until her eyes streamed. 

“Just, don’t be afraid to be rough with me,” she concluded. 

“Okay…” He was clearly trying to contain a little bit of frustration, as though she had become a lock he was unable to pick. “I will do my best, but you are being very vague right now.” 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You are so worried about hurting me.” 

“Can you blame me?” he blurted. He ground his palms into his eyes. “At least give me a hand here and tell me what your hard limits are.” She smiled at the use of the correct terminology. Maybe he was better versed in what she was requesting than she had assumed. Maybe they were both making assumptions about each other.

“It’s not like I have a prepared list, Mulder.” 

“Okay, here’s an example. What if I choked you during sex? Is that what you aren’t telling me you want, or would that re-traumatize you?” Re-traumatize. Sometimes she forgot he was a psychologist with a keen awareness of the psychological damage she had endured over the last years. “Would you be horrified that I would even attempt that, rational medical doctor such as yourself? You see my problem here?” 

She thought about it. “Yes, I see your point. I like having hands around my throat, but more as a symbolic gesture. I don’t want my air to be actually cut off.” 

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” His voice was low this time, almost a growl and it did something to her. 

“Let’s just say I give you permission to try new things, within reason. I don’t think I have any triggers you would stumble on accidentally. I trust you not to take things too far too fast. I’ll tell you what I like and we can go from there.” 

“Deal,” he said and held out his hand.

“Deal,” she said, giggling as she shook his hand, relieved the thorniest part of this conversation seemed to be resolved. He didn’t smile back as he usually did when he got her laughing, and she felt a shiver down her spine at the feral look in his eye.

Before she knew what was happening, he gripped her wrist and swung her arm over her head. His other hand reached down to find her other hand. He moved it next to where her wrist was pinned and held both her wrists above her head, applying a steady pressure. His now-free hand reached down to firmly hold her throat. She gasped, staring as he loomed down at her. 

“I didn’t hear you,” he growled. 

“Yes,” she gasped. 

“Yes, what?” he demanded.

“Yes, this is what I want.” 

“You like it when I pin your hands over your head.” 

“Yes.” 

“Tell me.” 

“I like it when you pin my hands over my head.” 

“What else do you like?” 

“I like it when you hold my throat like that.” He released his grip on her throat and felt between her legs. 

“Fuck, Scully. You’re so wet. Do you feel how wet you are for me?” She whimpered as she nodded. 

“I’m going to make you taste yourself.” She nodded again. She was so aroused she felt like she might start weeping any second. He slipped his finger between her lips and she slurped greedily, employing a few of the tongue swirling and lip suction techniques she knew he had grown to love over the last few weeks. 

“You love tasting yourself,” he stated. 

“Yes,” she whispered, releasing his fingers with a pop. 

“You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?” 

“Yes.”

“Say it.” 

“I’m a dirty girl.” 

“And I’m sorry I ever doubted that.” He said that plainly in his regular speaking voice, the low growl gone for the moment. He gave her a meaningful look before laying a crushing kiss on her lips. “And you are also silly,” he said, back in character, “for thinking would love you less for this.” Another savage kiss. He pulled her lower lip out between his teeth. “As if trusting me enough to let me in this way would be anything less that the hottest thing in the goddamn world.” 

Reinforcing his grip on her wrists, he slipped inside her easily. No slow adjustment period needed; she had never been more ready for him. “As if this doesn’t open up a whole new world of possibilities for us. New ways for me to please you, to torment you.” He brushed clit lightly with his thumb but did not leave it there. 

“Please,” she panted. She needed the contact. 

“Sorry, love. You’re on your own this time.” He grinned wickedly down at her. “I’m not just here for your pleasure, you know. I’m here to take what’s mine.” He punctuated the last several words with vicious thrusts and she cried out with each one. He moved her wrists from above her head to rest on either side of her, holding each with one hand. She whimpered has he put more pressure on her wrists with each thrust. She felt the orgasm grow in her, the first time she had ever experienced a no-hands orgasm. She closed her eyes, focusing on holding that sensation. 

Without losing pace, he leaned down and whispered into her ear. “Come for me, baby. Fucking come for me.” 

She cried out as her walls clenched and her hips bucked against him, grinding and thrusting against his pelvis. Stars exploded from behind her eyelids and her mind went deliciously blank as the waves of pleasure rolled over her. As her body relaxed, her partner slowed down, moving out of her so only the tip of his cock remained and slowly sliding back in. He released her wrists now and kissed her tenderly, first on the forehead then the side of each eye, the tip of her nose before settling against her lips. 

“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered against her skin. She opened her eyes then, still reeling from her orgasm. She felt dizzy, delirious, utterly out of control. He was looking down at her with more love than she had ever seen from anyone in her life and she warmed from his gaze. 

“I’m not done with you, though,” he growled. He pulled out of her quickly and she let out a small cry, missing the feel of him already. He flipped her over on to her stomach. Expecting he wanted to fuck her doggy style, she inched her hips up, only to feel his palms press her ass cheeks down until she lay flush against the bed, her face pressed to one side against the pillow. He slipped into her from behind and rested his arms on either side of her own. His entire body was pressed down against her and she felt small and safe under his weight. 

“Don’t move, baby,” he muttered into her ear. “I got you.” She moaned into the pillow. How did he seem to know exactly what to say to turn her on on this core level? In that moment, it seemed ridiculous to her that she had ever doubted him, that she had ever thought this was something he wouldn’t want to do with her. Dominance seemed as natural to him as the slow, sensual worship of her body and the realization shot her through with joy. 

He was picking up pace now and she could tell he was starting to get close, his movements and soft groans becoming more frantic. He lifted himself off her back a bit and she felt the absence of his weight. His hands gripped her hips as he pounded into her with everything he had. He collapsed against her and she could feel the combined sweat sticking them together. Even though she hadn’t moved, she was panting ever so slightly and she could feel his breath stirring her hair. When he rolled off of her, he lay on his side and she pulled herself against his chest, feeling his sweat on her cheek. She wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her close, letting one hand sneak down to her ass to give it a playful squeeze. She smiled against his skin, sex-drunk and dazed. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

“The pleasure was all mine.” He smiled at her. “Well, not all mine, clearly.”

“Don’t think this means you can’t worship my body for an hour at a time,” she mused.

“Sorry, babe. That ship has sailed.” 

“No!” she whined, pouting her lip in that way she recently learned drove him crazy. “Can’t I have it both ways?” 

“We’ll see.” He grinned and kissed her like it was the first time all over again.


	2. The Assignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mulder comes up with another way to help Scully communicate her desires.

When she walked into the office on Monday, he greeted her with a smirk. 

"Good morning, Ms. Scully," he said, stretching back in his chair with his arms back around his head. She could see the defined lines of his chest through his white button down and her breath caught.

"Behave yourself," she responded, sitting in the chair in front of his desk and crossing her legs. 

"I can't say good morning to you?" he said, mock-offended. "We talked about keeping it professional in the office but that just seems excessive." 

She raised an eyebrow and he placed a sunflower seed in his mouth, taking his time cracking it and spitting the shell. He knew exactly what he was doing. In a moment of weakness, she had confided in him that his sunflower seed habit always got her thinking about his oral fixation. Now he loved to give her meaningful looks whenever he indulged in it, which was often. 

"What do you have for me?" This was one of the biggest reasons she had been afraid to take their relationship to the next level. Mulder was impossible on a good day but now that nothing was stopping her from moving over to his chair and wrapping her legs around his waist...Focus, she told herself. 

"Two assignments today." 

"Two?" 

"Mm-hmm." He got up and moved to the slide projector, switching it on. The projector opened to a shot of a dead woman laying against a tile floor, her dark hair strewn around her head. "32-year-old white professional female in Wichita, Kansas. Found on her bathroom floor with sea water in her lungs. Cause of death determined to be drowning." 

"Sea water in Kansas?"

"Exactly." He handed her the file. "No body of sea water for hundreds of miles and no indication that it was forced down her throat with some kind of implement. Enzymes and salt levels in the water determine it was from the sea and it was fresh." 

"And what are you thinking? Some kind of maritime poltergeist in Kansas?" 

"Now you're singing my song." 

She flipped through the pages, looking at the autopsy results, "I presume you already booked us tickets." 

"You would be correct. We leave this afternoon." He handed her a plane ticket, which she slide into the pocket of her blazer. 

"And the second assignment?"

He handed her a sealed manila envelope, which she immediately moved to tear open. She peeled back the metal reinforcement but he stopped her, placing his hand on her's.

"Nope, you don't get to open this now."

"Can I get a hint?" she asked. 

"I suppose you could say it's a survey of sorts." His smile was mischievous and her heart skipped a beat. "Open it when you go home. If you have any questions, call me. I expect it to be filled out and on my desk by Friday morning at the latest." 

She licked her lips, wondering if she will have self control on this case. She had managed pretty well so far, considering she felt ruled by her body like hormonal teenager, making up for lost time as though she had been waiting her entire lifetime. Nothing had happened in the office, though she loved to hear about all the fantasies he had surrounding her in the office. She would tell him to stop but with a playful tone that clearly communicated she wanted him to keep going. He would always oblige. 

"Well, I better get packing," she said. 

"See you in a few," he replied. "And Scully?"

She turned around, her hand on the doorknob. "If you keep licking your lips like that, I'm going to have no choice but to call HR." 

She gave him a once over and blew him a kiss before swinging her hips suggestively on the way out the door. She heard him take a deep breath as the door shut behind her. 

She didn't wait until she got home to open up the manila envelope. Instead, she slipped into the nearest bathroom, tearing into the envelope before she even shut the stall door behind her. Inside she found two pages of printer paper. It took her a second to register was she was reading. It was a list of sexual acts, ranging from basic stuff like "oral sex (giving)," "oral sex (receiving)," "intercourse," to "blood play," "double penetration," and "hook suspension." Some of the things listed she didn't even know, though she could surmise the meaning from her understanding of medical terminology. To the right of the list, there were three columns which the headers of "Yes," "No" and "Maybe." The first page was titled "Receiving" and the second page read "Giving." Intellectually, she was nervous but she could feel her clit throbbing against her underwear in response. 

Remembering the packing she still had to do, she folded the envelope and stuffed it in under blazer pocket. Feeling a little shaky, she stepped out of the bathroom and, not looking where she was going, stepped directly into none other than Fox Mulder. 

"Easy there," he said, gripping her shoulders and holding her in place. "Scully, are you okay?" 

"Uh, yeah. Sorry. I wasn't looking where I was going." 

"Where's your assignment?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

"Um, it's in my pocket." 

"You didn't wait, did you?" 

She flushed all the way down her chest. He trailed a finger down a couple inches from between her collar bones, heating her skin even further. 

"What did you think?" he inquired. 

She looked left and right, afraid they were going to be caught for this moment of intimacy. 

She lowered her voice and leaned in. "Scat play, Mulder? Really? Do you think that would possibly be a yes?"

He chuckled. "First of all, this was a generic list printed off the internet. Second of all, I don't want to rule anything out. Human sexuality is a complicated thing and I can't pretend to know what filthy, filthy things you are into."

"Suffice to say, I'm not into scat play." It came out a little louder than she had expected and immediately whirled around, expecting to see Skinner or worse right behind her. 

"Well that’s a relief, that would be a hard one for me to get past." 

They both laughed at that. "Well at least we can agree on that," she chuckled. "Why a list though? Why can't we just talk about it?" 

"I thought this might be a little easier for you. I know communicating about these things isn't always the easiest thing to do." 

She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. As usual, he wasn't wrong. She just didn't like to hear it. 

"Mulder, if I'm going to do this, I want you to do it too." 

He nodded. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours." 

"Deal," she said.

"Deal," he responded. He shook her hand, giving it one firm squeeze before releasing it. 

She loved him even more in that moment. She knew he would always push her boundaries, just a little bit, just to keep things interesting. She was better for it.


	3. Cards on the Table

The list stayed in her luggage through the flight and the car ride to the hotel. Dana was nervous going through customs, certain that this was the one time they would choose to look through her bag and for some inexplicable reason open the envelope laying under her socks and underwear.

She didn't pull it out again until she was ready for bed, lounging on her hotel comforter in her robe, freshly showered and face mask in place. She pulled a pen out of her pocket and set the paper on her lap, chewing on the end of her pen as she considered.

Abduction play was first on the list. She felt a twinge, wondering if he had considered that when he printed out the list. That got an X in the No column immediately.

Age play. Another no. Anal intercourse - maybe, as they had discussed. Anal rimming - yes. She felt a little giddy thinking about his face buried between her ass cheeks. It was something she would never in a million years ask for but she hoped it would be one of the first things on the list he would try out.

She scanned the list for the obvious no's: cock and ball torture, diapers, furry fetish, etc. She wasn’t sure what the latter meant but it sounded unappealing nevertheless.

She went over it again for the ones that were an obvious yes: vaginal intercourse, lingerie, dirty talk. All the things they were already enjoying together.

She paused when she got to the group sex section. It took her a second to realize what the acronyms MMF and MFF meant. The pang of jealousy at the thought of seeing him with another woman was accompanied by a flash of arousal thinking about being the center of the attentions of two pairs of hands, Mulder whispering to a stranger instructions on how to please her. She checked "Maybe" for both boxes and on second thought, added a little note next to both: ”Negotiable."

There were some that she wouldn't necessarily want but knew she wouldn't mind if he was into it, like food play. She made a little note next to each saying "If you're into it."

Then it came time to mark yes for the ones that she really did want, the things that would have felt like pulling teeth to admit out loud. Bondage, pornography (making and watching), collar and leash, over-the-knee spanking, orgasm denial. She took a deep sigh before she started marking "Yes" on most of the items on the list. Cards onto table.

She returned the list to the envelope and rinsed her face mask off in the bathroom sink.

She was wide awake when she borrowed under the covers and considered calling him just to hear the sound of his voice. Instead, she curled around the second pillow, wishing she was holding him. Self-control, she thought. That's the only way we can make this work.She wondered what Mulder was doing in the adjacent room, if he was working on his list as well or if he already had it filled out and ready for her. She wondered if he was touching himself thinking about her. She wondered if anyone would notice if she slipped into his room. They were being more careful than usual because now they really did have something to hide. She wondered not for the first time if they were being paranoid and how long it would take to for them to lose control, wasting tax dollars by snuggling up together in the same bed.

As Dana finally fell asleep, she wondered how she could manage to steal one of his t-shirts for nights like this.

* * *

"Did you get a chance to work on your assignment?" Mulder asked in the car the next day, as casually as if he was talking about the case they were working.

"Um, yeah. I finished last night actually."

"Did you now?" His voice curled in that flirtatious way that drove her crazy.

"What about you?" She struggled to keep her voice even. Her most primal self just wanted to ask him to turn the car around, crime scene be damned.

"Oh, I finished last night, all right. You would be amazed what hotels have on preview these days. Can't exactly charge it to the Bureau credit card."

She sighed. "You know what I mean."

"I already filled it out." She smiled to herself, having predicted him so well.

"When are you going to show me?"

"I already told you, Scully. After you show me yours."

* * *

 That night, Dana gave the list one final review. A couple “Yes’s” she almost crossed out but reminded herself that this was part of being vulnerable. She knew the fear would dissipate after she read his answers.

"Here goes," she muttered to herself. She put on her slippers and grabbed the envelope and her room key. She padded down the hall to his room, triple-checking the room number before sliding the envelope under the door. She knocked twice at the door and practically ran back to her room. She turned on the TV to distract herself but couldn't focus.

This was going to be a long night.

Dana jumped as she heard two soft knocks at her door and then a rustle as an envelope appeared on the floor. She practically leapt out of bed to retrieve it and opened it so eagerly she tore it down the middle. For “giving,” he had checked practically every “Yes” box. For “receiving,” he had checked almost every box as a "Maybe." Her partner was nothing if not solicitous to her desires. She got a little thrill as she read through all the items marked with the affirmative, all of the things she wanted for herself.

She read the list over three times before she stuffed it back in the envelope and to the bottom of her suitcase, though she knew it wouldn’t be long before she pulled it out to review it again. Her heart picked up pace as her cell phone rang and she saw Mulder's name on the screen.

"Hey, Scully." She couldn’t help smile at the familiar baritone.

"Hey yourself."

"This two-room policy of yours is killing me."

"It's not my policy. Take it up with the Bureau."

"Oh I would. If it wouldn't result in more suspicion than we are already under." 

"I can't blame them for wondering. Have you seen you lately?"

"I suppose we do make a pretty pair. Never given it much thought."

“Sure, Mulder.”

"Do you know what I would do if you let me in to your room right now?”

"I don't have to let you in. You have a key, as always."

“And yet here I am, all by my lonesome, respecting a very clear boundary you set. You didn't answer my question."

"I don't know what you would do if I let you in to my room right now.”

"Do you want to hear it?"

"Yes." It came out a whisper. She reclined on her bed, settling in.

"First, I would have you remove my tie. Then I would wrap it around your eyes and tie it behind your head." She inhaled softly and closed her eyes. "Then I would strip you until you are completely naked, but I would still be fully clothed."

“Does that mean you are still wearing a suit?"

"That is beside the point and I will thank you to keep your comments to a minimum. After you are stripped naked, I would lead you over to the bed and lay you down. I'll take a moment to appreciate you naked and blindfolded before I cuff your hands to the bed with our government issued handcuffs. You will be completely helpless and at my mercy." She glanced behind the bed and didn’t see anything that would allow him to cuff her. Not the point, she told herself.

"Then what?" The hand holding the phone was trembling. Her free hand reached down to between her legs, feeling herself through her nightclothes.

"Then I will run my fingers down your naked flesh ever so gently and watch the goosebumps form."

She groaned and slipped her hand under the waistband of her pajama pants.

"Are you touching yourself, Scully?"

"Yes,” she admitted. “Are you?"

"Yes. I can't help it, thinking about you naked and wet and ready for me." 

"What happens next?"

"I'll tease you for a while longer, touching you everywhere except the place you most want it. I'll rake my nails down your arms and legs and nibble at the delicate flesh on your inner thighs. Maybe I'll leave a few hickeys. I just can't help marking you, but I know you would kill me if leave any on your neck. As tempting as that neck is."

She couldn't help but release a moan as her fingers picked up the pace.

"By the time I start eating your pussy, you will be so ready you will come almost instantly." His breathing had started to change and she could tell he was getting more aroused by the second. "But I won't be done with you then. I'll keep going until you come again, at least twice more, until you can't take it any more. Until you are too tender and spent to continue."

At that, she cried out. "Oh god, I'm going to—" 

"Yes, come for me," he growled into her ear through the phone.

With a few more gasped moans, she collapsed back against the bed, flushed and mostly satiated. She could hear some soft grunts on his end and she knew that he had reached his release as well.

"What happens next?" she breathed.

"Then I unlock the handcuffs and I tell you to count to twenty before removing the blindfold from your eyes. By the time you open your eyes, I will be back in my own room, in accordance with FBI protocol. Like I was never there.”

"Aww, no cuddling?"

"It will hurt me just as much as it hurts you," he quipped. "But I wouldn't want to risk falling asleep with you and blowing our barely concealed cover."

“That’s very thoughtful.”

They were silent for a long moment.

“Scully?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything. But mostly, thank you for sharing with me. The list, I mean. I know it probably wasn’t easy for you.”

“It was certainly easier than a face-to-face conversation.” A conversation that would have never happened, she knew.

“That’s what I was hoping,” he replied simply. “Opening that envelope tonight, it was like Christmas. Seeing all the things we get to explore together.”

“I felt the same way,” she affirmed.

“Good.”

Another pause.

“I love you, Mulder.”

She heard him take a breath. To this point, he was usually the one to say it first. Of course, she would always respond in kind. She reminded herself to tell him more often.

“I love you, too.”

“Goodnight, Mulder.”

“Night.”

After the line went dead, Dana held the phone to her chest for a moment.

When she closed her eyes, she ruminated on the wicked plans he was concocting for her in the other room.


	4. The Office

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what FBI policy is for after-hours office visits so you might need to suspend disbelief for some obligatory office sex :)

"Tell me again why we need to stop by the office?" she complained as the elevator door opened to the basement floor.

"I just need to grab something before I head home," he replied cryptically.

She sighed. "Okay…That doesn’t explain why _I_ have to be here.”

Her eyelids were heavy and her feet hurt. The flight back from Wichita had felt interminable as she had been stuck next to a particularly chatty man. Mulder's flight arrangements hadn't allowed them to sit next to each other, but if she had a chance to doze off onto his shoulder for a couple hours she would certainly be in a better mood. It was pushing midnight and she was desperate to crawl into her bed.

The office door closed behind them and Mulder had a twinkle in his eye as he locked the door. All her exhaustion vanished as she suspected his plan.

"You don't actually have anything to grab from the office, do you?" she ventured.

"Now you're catching on." He turned on her, pressing her body up against the door and cutting off her breath with a savage kiss. Her fingers wound through his hair as she returned the kiss.

"Mulder, we said we wouldn't do this." Her voice was unconvincing, even to herself.

"Tell me to stop." He crushed her breast with one hand while the other hand reached around to grab her ass cheek. "There's no one here but the night security guards and the door is locked." She moaned as he pressed himself into her hips, already fully engorged. "Tell me to stop, Scully. Say the word."

She didn't say anything, instead letting him lift her up so her legs wrapped around his hips and she was looking down at him. His eyes had a feral glint that made her hips quiver. She ground against him and to her delight, he responded with a shaky gasp. 

Holding her like she weighed nothing at all, he moved them over to the desk, sweeping the contents of the desk to one side before laying her down. She was propped up on her elbows, legs spread under her skirt. He stared at her and she knew he was taking in a sight that he had often thought of throughout the years.

"Tell me you want me to stop," he repeated, palming her between her thighs. "I can feel how much you want this."

She flushed as she realized he could feel how wet she was through two layers of fabric.

"Don't stop," she whispered. "Please don't stop."

He slowly removed her heels and she lifted her hips just a little so he could slide her pantyhose down her legs. She shuddered as she felt the air against her bare legs.

"Next time, you might consider wearing thigh high stockings," he mused. "Otherwise I might be forced to take more _drastic measures_."

"I wish you would," she said under her breath.

"What was that?” he growled. “You want me to destroy your stockings next time? You want me to tear them up because I can't stand not being inside you for a second longer?" He pushed her panties to the side. "Scully, you're going to make a mess all over my desk."

He gave her a wicked grin as he worked two fingers inside her, his thumb making slow circles against her clit. She was dizzy with arousal and desire, and she moaned appreciatively.

"Tell me, Agent Scully. Are you always this...responsive?" 

She shook her head. "Just...you." He smirked and as his face light up with pleasure. If she had learned anything about her partner over the last several weeks, this was a man who was starved for verbal affirmation.

Without moving his hand, he worked his mouth down her neck, expertly sucking at her sensitive skin hard enough to make her moan but not so hard as to leave marks.

"Just me?" 

"Not like this with anyone before," she gasped, each word a struggle as her breath constricted with pleasure.  

With one fluid motion, he pulled her panties off her legs and tossed them to where her pantyhose lay on the floor. He pushed her skirt up so she was completely exposed on his desk. He stood there, appraising her for a second.

Her breasts ached to be touched and she heaved her chest at him, hoping he would get the message. He did, unbuttoning her blouse with slow care to expose the black lace bra underneath. Pulling a breast over the thin fabric, he took a nipple into his mouth while he picked up the rhythm with his fingers.

"Oh my god," she groaned, back arching against the desk. He started working on the other breast as she started to feel the orgasm build.

"You're getting close," he breathed into her chest. "I can feel it."

In a ruthless move, he extracted his fingers, eliciting a cry from her. As he stood back, she could see his erection straining painfully against his slacks. She ran her bare foot over his bulge and he hissed.

Before she knew what was happening, his face was buried between her thighs. It didn't take long before she was bucking against him, nails digging into his scalp as she pressed his head harder against her cunt. 

As soon as she pushed him away from her tender, post-orgasmic body, she felt herself being picked up again. He twisted her around so she was facing the desk. With one large palm between her shoulder blades, he pushed her down until her cheek lay on the desk. Ass cheeks bare, she never felt more exposed and more wild. 

She could hear the sound of his belt and his zipper and before she knew it, his entire length was buried into her. He held the position for a long moment, letting her adjust, though she was so ready there was very little adjustment needed. She loved the feeling of his strong hands holding her hips steady, digging into her flesh.

"Do you know how much I've thought about doing this?" he murmured into her ear through her mussed hair.

"I have an idea," she replied, twisting her head to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye.

"I don't think you do." He started a slow, steady motion with his hips and she moaned in response. "I don't think you understand. My wildest, most inconceivable fantasy coming to life. Tonight." He picked up the pace. "I'm the luckiest man in the goddamn world."

She closed her eyes and lost herself in the sensation. She felt a hand reach around and tease her throbbing clit, fingers gathering moisture. Then he reached around the other side and she felt a wet thumb pressed against her ass, a brand new sensation that intensified and deepened her arousal.

"You like that, don't you?"

"Yes," she gasped. His thumb pressed in just a little bit, just enough to set her nerves on fire. "Fuck," she moaned.

"That's my girl. My dirty fucking girl." Her impulse was to resist when he used that phrase, but she liked it. Maybe it was just the fact that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he respected her and even if he could be a dick, he never infantilized her as other male agents and even sexual partners had done in the past. 

"Your dirty fucking girl," she muttered. He groaned and slammed into her even harder. The edge of the desk pressed into her stomach and she wondered if it would leave bruises.

"I want to see your face," she blurted. "I want to see you." He slid out of her and she felt herself being twisted around back to her original position, legs parted on the edge of the desk. He slid back inside her as he gripped her knees, holding her legs as far apart as she could comfortably go. She held herself steady by gripping the back of the desk, her breasts painfully half-constricted by her bra. 

"I'm not going to last much longer," he admitted, and stroked her cheek with one hand, letting his thumb swipe over her cheekbone. She smiled and the corner of her lip brushed against him.

“That’s okay,” she assured him. 

He thrust wildly and when his orgasm completed, he bent over her and pulled her head up for a sweet kiss. 

"I love you so fucking much," he whispered into her mouth.

"I know."

He picked her up and sat down on the office chair, placing her on his lap and wrapping her in a tight embrace. She felt small and protected in his arms, and allowing herself to feel small and protected was both a joy and a relief. She sighed contentedly into his neck, one languid finger playing with the chest hair exposed by his open Oxford button down.

"This can't be a regular thing," she said, leaning her head back and searching his eyes. "We can't risk our careers, getting split up."  

“I know,” he agreed. “But you have to admit it was inevitable it would happen at least once.” He reached a hand to the back of her neck and squeezed her muscles gently. 

“And Monday morning,” he went on. “When we are back to behaving ourselves, we get to remember how we defiled the office.”


	5. On Your Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very NSFW. Gets into more heady D/s territory here. You have been warned! And lest you think it's too on the nose, the January 2000 issue of Psychology Today did have Freud on the cover.

Dana puttered around the office, tidying as she went. From his desk, Mulder kept shooting her amused looks as her cleaning attempts became more and more pointless. The office was stuffy—a natural result of two people occupying a room with basement ventilation all day—and she longed for fresh air.

The workday was technically over ten minutes ago, but she couldn't leave. They hadn't discussed their plans for the weekend, and she missed him. If she was honest with herself, she ached for him.

Mulder had been on his best behavior all week, but that meant he kept a polite distance. She assumed this was for her benefit considering he pushed a boundary by initiating their office liaison last Friday. Dana regretted nothing. In fact, she coasted through the bureaucracy of the week of the memory of their transgression, the endless meetings and mountains of paperwork privately livened.

Mulder seemed unfazed. The only times they behaved like a couple was the brusque kiss and "I love you" at the end of the day, as mundane as though they had been married for twenty years.

As she dusted the microscope at the back of the office, she returned to a thought that had been nagging her for the last couple days—their honeymoon phase as a new couple was already over. Had they settled so soon into a routine? Where was that hunger for her? The man who couldn't help calling her at midnight on Wednesday even though weeknights were their designated alone times, who planned their weekends on Monday and spent all week looking forward to it. Who gave her that innocent "who, me?" look after he slapped her ass with impunity when they were alone in the office.

The way he was acting now, it was what she said she wanted. But he was usually better at reading between her lines.

Mulder was signing reports with his shirtsleeves rolled up, twirling a pen as he turned the pages. She watched his long fingers work until he looked up at her, pen between teeth.

“Hmmm?” he asked mildly.

“Do you have plans tonight?”

“Scully, when have you ever known me to have Friday night plans?”

She considered. “Since about five weeks ago.”

“Fair enough.”

He was leaving this all up to her, for reasons of his own. Did he resent that he was usually the one to initiate plans? Or worse, was she being clingy and he was looking forward to a weekend by himself? She decided to risk it; the worst he could say was no, she would nurse her wounds with her vibrator and the bottle of white chilling in her fridge. She could always find the appeal in an indulgent night in.

“Do you want to come over to my place tonight?” she offered. “I can cook.”

“Sure," he agreed with a smile.

“Seven?”

“Sure,” he repeated.

“Okay then…” she said awkwardly. “See you then.”

She was just about to open the door when she felt the weight of his body press against her. She had no idea how he made his way to her so quickly.

His mouth was against her ear. “Don’t start dinner before I get there,” he said, the low vibrations of his voice tickling her.

“Okay.”

He jutted his hips against her ass. “I want you kneeling on your floor waiting for me.”

“Okay.”

“Wearing nothing but this necklace.” He reached around her neck to tug at her cross.

“Okay.”

“Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mulder?”

He nipped at the lobe under her earring; the pain was exquisite. “Yes, what?”

Unsure what he was asking, she flashed through the possibilities. “Yes, Sir?”

"Say it like you mean it."

"Yes, Sir," she repeated in a clearer voice.

“Good girl." This time he placed a gentle kiss on her ear.

He stepped back and opened the door for her. 

“Have a wonderful weekend, Scully,” he called, all business again for the benefit of anyone who might happen to be visiting the basement. “I’ll see you Monday.”

* * *

Her lock turned at precisely seven. She was waiting for Mulder just as he had instructed, prickled with goosebumps from anticipation and exposed skin. He was silent as he peeled off his leather jacket and set it on the arm of her couch.

He appraised her cooly, circling where she knelt. She shivered as he stirred the air around her. He pet her hair, but when she tried to lean into his palm, his hand was gone just as quickly as it had arrived.

He wandered into the kitchen, sifting through items in her fridge until he found what he was looking for: a bottle of Shiner Bock, last in a six pack he brought over not long ago. She watched as he went through several drawers before he found her bottle opener.

When he returned to her living room, he picked up the latest issue of Psychology Today sitting on her coffee table and rested his shoes on her coffee table, something she had previously complained about half-heartedly. He sipped his beer as he flipped through the pages, appearing as though he was absorbing nothing. His eyes occasionally flickering over to her. Sigmund Freud stared at her from the cover of the magazine.

"What do you think, Scully? Does Freud matter in the year 2000?"

She opened her mouth.

"Rhetorical question," he interrupted before she managed to speak.

He knew exactly what he was doing. Her annoyance fueled her arousal, and her arousal fueled her annoyance. She flexed her thighs, hoping to get a little traction with her muscles, anything to ease the ache between her legs. Her muscles started to burn just from being in the same unusual position for so long, and her calves were falling asleep. When she began shifting to stretch, he shot her a stern look, and she straightened.

When he finally finished his beer and stood up from the couch, she noticed he was already hard. The sight made her clit pulse.

He pulled her up, so she was sitting on her knees. Wincing, she jiggled her legs as her circulation returned with a vengeance. When she reached for his zipper, he took her wrists and gave them a hard squeeze before releasing them.

The erection straining against his jeans was near enough to her face that she could feel its heat. He unbuttoned and unzipped, and as he pulled himself out of his boxers, his cock slipped, landing with a light slap on her face. She gasped, her face recoiling on instinct, but the squirm in her hips contradicted her expression of mild outrage. Eyes flickering down, he smirked at her reaction and responded by slapping himself against her face again, one cheek and then the other.

He pressed himself all the way into her gaping mouth, and she dutifully covered her teeth with her lips. She gagged before she relaxed, enjoying the feel of his hands on the side of her head, pulling her closer, making her devour him. She was already a mess: the arousal now smearing her upper thighs, her lipstick streaking his shaft and presumably her face, her eyes tearing despite attempts to blink it back.

“You love that, don’t you?”

She released a muffled affirmative moan.

“You love sucking my cock.”

Mouth full, she strained to look up at him with wide, watery eyes. When he pulled back, he was coated with the clear, viscous evidence of her gag reflex.

"Good girl," he muttered, tracking his thumbs over her temples.

She lapped at him as he bobbed in front of her face, flicking her tongue on the head of his penis before licking the length, giving every side its due. When she reached a hand down to her clit, he swatted it away, but he did allow her to reach up and massage his balls.

He threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling a little at the roots, and she had to grip his legs for balance as he thrust into her mouth. And then he was gone, peeling off his t-shirt and stepping out of his jeans and boxers. He sat bare-assed on her couch and again she winced. He caught her expression and gave a quick raise of his eyebrows, challenging her. She said nothing.

He crooked his index finger at her in the universal "come here" signal. When she moved to stand up, he shook his head.

"Crawl," he commanded.

Burning with humiliation and desire in equal measure, she dropped to all fours and made her way to him. He didn't take his eyes off her as she moved between his legs and sat back on her heels in the same position he initially found her. God, how he was enjoying himself. One side of his mouth curled up as his eyes twinkled with delight. She hated him a little.

He lifted her under her armpits and situated her so she was straddling one of his thighs.

"Do you want to come?"

She nodded with a flood of shame at her own eagerness.

"I'm going to let you come."

"Thank you, Sir," she croaked. It was the first time she used the word unprompted; it felt strange but right. He smiled appreciatively and placed a soft, closed-mouthed kiss on her lips.

"I'm going to let you come. But you're on your own.”

Her hips slid forward against his thigh, his hair coarse against her sex.

"That's right, baby. Hump my leg." He put his lips against her ear just like he had at the office. "Like a bitch in heat," he whispered. She couldn't help release a moan.

She no longer registered the degradation of her need being made bare while she was denied the rest of his body. The excruciating pleasure of it all made her want to weep as she pressed her face against his neck.

"You're so wet," he kept going. "Do you feel how wet you are? Just from getting your _face fucked_." He punctuated the last two words by jerking his leg up. She cried out, resting her teeth against his skin. She imagined sinking in until she drew blood. She was overcome by a desire to retaliate for his ability to wreck her in this way.

His hands moved down to her hips, pulling her down harder against his thigh. "Come for me," he demanded. She reached back, placing her hand over his. He rotated his wrist and laced his fingers through hers with a squeeze. It was that last gesture of tenderness that did her in. She convulsed against him as the pleasure washed over her, and she let out dry sobs against his neck.

He gathered her in his arms as she came down from the high of her orgasm. When she stopped trembling, he pulled her head back and kissed her fully on the mouth, pouring in all the expressions of love he was restraining up until that point.

"I was going to make you beg for it, but I don't think I can wait any longer," he admitted.

She was so ready for him he slid into her as soon as her legs wrapped around his lap. As they often did when he first entered her, they paused and shared a breath. Even though she had already lost count of the number of times they had made love, it still felt like a miracle. The way he filled her so completely, as though their bodies were designed just for each other. The way he looked at her like she was the only woman in the world, like he would lay down his life for her without a second thought. That they finally fumbled their way into this joyful private universe which shut out the confusion and terror of their lives. That they staked their claim on each other.

It was his turn to be at her mercy as she started working her hips, keeping him locked in place. He pulled her face into another kiss, tongue attacking her in time with her movements. 

He let her ride him until she started to slow and flipped her over, holding her hands down as she clawed at the upholstery and entering her from behind.

"God, you feel good," he murmured as he dragged his member out before plunging back in.

This angle got her in just the right spot, massaging her most sensitive nerves and shooting pleasure from her core through the rest of her body. It must have been working for Mulder too; it didn't take long before she felt the tell-tale stiffening of his legs and his thrusts grew more purposeful. She begged him to come inside her, and he obliged.

Spent, he fell back against her couch. "Give me a minute," he panted. "But don't think I'm done with you."

She waited as he collected himself, smoothed his damp hair from his forehead, licked a bead of sweat from his nose to taste the salty essence of him.

When his breathing steadied, he put a hand on her neck and pushed her back. He straddled her in a reversal of their previous position. He curled two fingers inside her and extracted them, slick with her arousal and his release.

"Taste," he instructed, and she opened her mouth to receive his fingers. "That's what we taste like. You and me." His fingers tasted like brine and tang, like ocean and earth. Him and her. She lapped it up.

His hand on her throat was enough to pin her in place but not enough to cut off her air. She inched her hips up to give him easier access.

"You have another one in you, don't you?" His fingers trailed wet down her chin.

"I think so, yes."

"I'll let you have it if you ask me nicely."

"Please," she gasped as his thumb circled her clit with the faintest touch.

"Please, what?"

"Please make me come."

His thumb retracted.

"Please make me come, Sir."

His thumb returned, this time with a little more force. "You've been thinking about this all week, haven't you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Don't think I haven't noticed. I saw the way you were squirming in your seat in that budgetary meeting on Wednesday." Three fingers inside her. "All those other agents at the table and I'm the only one who knows what a greedy little cunt you have." At a sharp thrust, she whimpered. "How you can barely focus because all you can think about is how badly you need to get fucked. Am I right?"

"Yes, Sir. You're right."

"I saw the way you looked at me this afternoon. You were trying to work out how you can get me in your bed. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, Sir."

He tilted her chin up, spoke low and close. "What would they think? If they knew the buttoned-up Agent Scully was so desperate for cock? If they knew how wet she gets under those impeccably tailored suits."

Her thighs started to tremble as her orgasm became inevitable.

"But only I get to know what a dirty fucking girl you are. Isn't that right?"

She nodded fitfully.

"This cunt belongs to me, doesn't it?" His thumb was now applying enough pressure to be painful, his hand around her throat squeezing and releasing gently.

"Yes, Sir. It belongs to you."

"That's right. Come on my fingers."

She wailed as her muscles contracted. Her eyes snapped shut on instinct. When she opened them again and her body worked through the aftershocks, he was staring at her, unblinking.

He released her throat and left her reeling. 

Mulder padded into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water. Tap water with one ice cube from her freezer, she noticed with a smile—he remembered her preference. Dana accepted with gratitude and felt herself come back down to earth as the water cooled her throat. He rubbed her shoulders as she chugged the glass. He had been giving her those little rubdowns a lot more lately, and she tried to reinforce the behavior by leaning into it, giving him pleasing little moans.

Handing him the empty cup, he returned to the kitchen, pouring and downing his own glass of water in under a minute. She watched as he refilled and drank the second one slower. She enjoyed the opportunity to admire his naked form, the way he leaned nonchalantly against the sink as if posing for a faux-casual photoshoot.

"Like what you see?" Mulder wore his smarmiest grin when he caught her staring.

"You know I do," she indulged him.

"I'm guessing you don't feel like cooking anymore, do you?"

"I really, really don't," she groaned. "If we order in tonight, I can cook us lunch tomorrow."

"How does Thai sound?"

"That sounds like a dream."

"You want the usual?"

"Please."

"You got it. Gonna make your dreams come true." He began his hunt for their favorite Thai place in her stack of delivery menus.

* * *

On those precious nights they spent alone together, she had trouble not touching him all the time. "So handsy," he had commented on their third night together. She flushed and looked away, unable to decipher his tone. Mulder had a tendency to sound sarcastic even when that was not his intention, and it was another thing about him she was learning to live with in this new context.

"No, no," he reassured her. "I like it. Don't stop." She didn't stop. They spent all night laughing and touching each other and remembering that this thing they were doing was supposed to be fun; it was a relief from the intensity of their first two nights together.

They bet dinner on how many times he could make her come. "I guarantee you it will be three at most," she had insisted. He promised her at least five. She had six orgasms that night.

"Five and a half," Mulder had sighed as he wiped his chin. "I could tell the last one was small."

As they drifted off in each other's arms that night, she had a sublime revelation. She had known for a while that Mulder was the person she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Now she knew without a doubt that Mulder was also the person she wanted to have sex with for the rest of her life. Having been the confidante of several friends who were ostensibly happily married but still daydreamed about the former lovers who gave them the best sex of their lives, she knew the two didn't always go hand-in-hand. She fell asleep with a dopey grin that just wouldn't go away.

To make good on the bet, she bought them burritos on a case in New Mexico. "To never underestimating my prowess in the art of oral sex again," Mulder toasted a little too loudly as he lifted his margarita glass.

Tonight as they sat together on the couch with their Thai food, sated in a new kind of way, she sprawled her legs across his lap. He didn't seem to mind eating over her shins and occasionally sent forkfuls of pad thai in her direction as she slurped her coconut curry. He had learned long ago to be preemptive about sharing his greasier, forbidden meals; the alternative was her absconding with bites of his food anyway. Now that she thought of it, he seemed to enjoy sharing. She filed that away under Little Things She Appreciated about Mulder.

Two-thirds done, he offered, "Switch?"

She accepted the trade and attacked the noodles. All the stimulation and exertion of the evening caught up with her, and her body craved carbs and grease. As she choked down a too-large mouthful, she almost laughed. She had never been so unselfconscious with any of the men in her past to eat this way in front of them. Mulder didn't even seem to notice, having busied himself with shoving precarious spoonfuls of white rice into the curry.

After they finished eating and tidied up, she nuzzled against him as they flipped through channels. Something was nagging at her, and she couldn't relax. 

"Mulder?" She sat up. 

"Yeah?"

"The way you were acting this week, that was deliberate, wasn't it?"

"What do you mean?" He muted the TV and turned to face her, his expression solemn.

"You know what I'm talking about." Her frustration started to build. "You were more professional this week than, I don't know, the entire time we've been working together. You were tailoring your behavior with tonight in mind, weren't you?"

"It didn't start out that way," he conceded. "After the office on Friday, I wanted you to know I was capable of maintaining propriety at work. Then I guess I started having fun with it." Making it impossible to call him on his behavior without revealing she liked when he pushed her buttons, despite what she told him. No one had ever come close to getting under her skin like this man. God help her.

“I'm glad it amused you," she said, her voice growing tense. "You didn’t think that a noticeable change in your behavior without explanation might actually be alarming?”

“I didn’t think about it that way.”

“Mulder, the game isn’t fun for me if I don’t know I’m playing."

“When you put it like that...”

“Yeah.”

“But I was being good.”

“Don’t be obtuse. Your behavior was fine, changing your behavior to...“ She trailed off as she had trouble finding a word that wasn’t “manipulate” and didn’t want to paint this in a worse light than he deserved. “The way you were acting was not the issue. It's that I didn't know _why_ you were acting that way.”

"What, you thought I was losing interest in you sexually?" He chuckled as though the idea was too absurd to contemplate.

She twisted her mouth. There was no getting around addressing her insecurity.

“Honey..." His face fell. "Honestly, that didn’t cross my mind. I thought I made my feelings about you known.”

“You did. You have, many times."

"You've been giving me blue balls for seven years, woman. You really think I would be bored in less than a couple months?"

"I don't know," she sighed. "But this is new to both of us. And like I said, that's not really the issue here."

"Okay. I hear you." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Forgive me?” he asked, his eyes innocent and imploring. _I always do_ , she thought. He turned her hand and planted kisses from her wrist to the crook of her elbow until she couldn't help giggling. She never stood a chance with him.

"Tonight was okay, right? I didn't take it too far?"

"No. But you are a little too good at this."

He grinned. "I'll take the compliment."

"You should."

"Tell me what you liked the most," he pressed.

"I don't know, everything?"

"That's not very helpful, hun." He didn't release her hand; his thumb brushed her skin in languid circles.

"Um, I liked the dirty talk." Her face started to burn. 

He nodded. "That's a good start. What about when I made you wait? Did it turn you on or just piss you off?"

"Both," she confessed.

"Noted," he said with mirth. "What about calling me 'Sir?'"

"I liked that," she muttered. Freud was still staring at her from the magazine on the coffee table, and she flipped it over. They both laughed.

Her face was still hot, yet she was surprised at how relaxed she felt. She was secretly thrilled that Mulder was attempting to mold himself into her perfect lover. And he seemed to take to heart what she said earlier without countering with his usual justifications. In this new world that belonged just to them, she got to make the rules.

“We should have a safe word," he declared.

“How come?”

“What do you mean how come? I want to know if I’m going too far."

"I'll tell you if you're going too far. It's not like we are doing anything where I would say 'no' and not mean it."

"I just feel like it might be easier for you to use a different word in the moment. Especially if things continue to get, uh, rougher."

"I suppose." She wasn't worried about him hurting her physically. She had a high pain tolerance, and Mulder had yet to come close to pushing those limits. She needed a safe word for his mind games, for his ability to crawl inside her head with such startling ease. She suspected his request was more for his comfort than her own. "What do you suggest?"

"Well, I've been reading about it—" She cocked an eyebrow, and it was his turn to look bashful. "There are a few options. Some people just use the phrase 'safe word.' Or you can choose something that would never come up during sex, like pineapple or—"

"Skinner?"

"Speak for yourself," he quipped. She snickered. 

"What's the third option?"

"Some people use the traffic light system. Green for go, yellow for slow down, red for stop."

"I like that," she considered. "I think I would be more likely to tell you to slow down than stop outright."

"So you want to use that?"

"Sure."

"Promise me you will use it if you need to."

"I promise." She doubted she would ever have to use the words.

"Thank you." He pulled her close with one arm and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Now that that's cleared up, there's something I meant to ask you."

"Oh?"

"You know, Valentine's Day is next week."

"Mm-hmm."

"I was hoping you would let me take you out on a date."

"Mulder, we've been on dates before."

"I want to take you on a real date. With candlelight and unpronounceable menu items and waiters with exaggerated accents."

"I think you just want an excuse to get me all dressed up."

"I am but a man, after all. I'll admit to an ulterior motive. So what do you say?"

"I'd love that."

She rested her cheek on his chest, basking in an unfamiliar feeling of complete contentment as she listened to the steady beat of his heart. 


	6. Valentine's Day, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay! I've been dealing with some personal stuff, and this chapter has been challenging. I ended up splitting it into two parts. Part 2 is in revision and forthcoming.

It took Dana two hours to get ready for their date. Back when formal dates were a part of her life, her routine involved a loose updo with face-framing curls. With her bob sheered at the nape of her neck, there wasn't much she could do except tame it with a round brush as she did every day for work. From rummaging through her drawer of hair accessories—mostly residual accouterments from simpler days with longer hair; how had this drawer survived her relentless cleaning purges?—she found a simple black velvet headband. It wasn't much, but it was feminine, and a departure from her everyday look.

The hardest part was figuring out what to wear, evidenced by the bed littered with discarded dresses and tops. She almost opted for black slacks and a burgundy cashmere sweater, but that was too close to something she would wear to work. At the back of her closet, she found a long-sleeve, scoop neck black dress that fell down to her ankles and rode up the side of her leg in a long slit. She had bought it on impulse a few years ago when she vowed she would start dating again. It had never been worn.

She smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror, anticipating his reaction. She had twenty minutes to go before he was due to pick her up, and she took the opportunity to put away the detritus of her indecision. He didn't need to see how much she agonized over her clothing selection. She just finished placing the last item of clothing in her closet when she heard a knock on the door.

When she opened the door, Mulder was bouncing on his heels and holding a bouquet with a dazzling array of pinks and purples, offset with those delicate lacy white flowers she often saw in flower arrangements at weddings. Though her mother and Melissa were always the plant people in the family, she recognized zinnias and carnations. A single daisy formed the focal point of the arrangement.

"Sorry I'm early," he apologized. "I was waiting outside in my car for a while but then I—" He stopped short when he took in her appearance. "Wow, Scully, you..."

"I clean up nicely?" she suggested.

"You're stunning," he replied quietly.

"You're not too bad yourself," she said with a sly smile, running her fingers down his chest. He was wearing a forest green sweater and black slacks, not dissimilar from her first discarded outfit. Freshly showered and shaved, a delicious cocktail of masculine scents wafted from his skin. Holding the bouquet to the side, he placed a tentative kiss on her lips, afraid of smearing the darker-than-usual lipstick she was wearing.

"I just want to get you out of this dress," he whined.

"All good things to those who wait," she teased. "Besides, I worked hard at this." She gestured at her face. "I expect a halfway decent bottle of wine for my efforts, at least."

"Mmm, you'll get more than that," he muttered, planting a kiss at the pulse point of her neck where she had recently dabbed a touch of perfume. “Your efforts are most appreciated.”

"So who are these for anyway?" She indicated the flowers.

"My other girlfriend didn't want them. You like?"

She narrowed her eyes at him when she took the flowers, but she couldn't help smiling as she buried her nose in the carnation. "They're beautiful. Your other girlfriend has terrible taste."

"That's what I keep telling her, and but she still wants to be with me for some reason.”

She rolled her eyes but hid her grin as she turned away to find a vase. The word "girlfriend" gave her a peculiar feeling. It was the closest he had come to formally declaring a title for their new relationship and that thrilled her, but it felt inadequate. It was the first step in a commitment, one which they skipped over given the unique intimacy of their years of friendship.

Flowers in a new home on her kitchen table and apartment locked, she linked her arm through his, and they set out into the night.

They were quiet in the drive over and as they sat down, Mulder pulling out her chair for her in an unanticipated expression of chivalry. The formality was strange; it felt like a promising first date with a new man set out to impress her. There were three ways she spent time with Mulder: working, having sex or lounging around one of their apartments. Even all the times they had gone to restaurants since they became a couple, it had been while on a case and certainly nothing with so romantic an atmosphere.

She took a moment to take in the gorgeous old-world architecture, the intricate chandeliers bathing the room in soft light, the murmur of voices, the speakers playing classical music she failed to recognize. The golden glow of the candlelight conspired with his sweater to bring out the green in his eyes, and he looked at her with unabashed adoration and desire. She suspected this night was more for him than it was for her. He was compelled to take her out, to show her that he was capable of courting her properly. On the other hand, she would have been content to eat at the burger joint by her apartment. All this wasn't necessary, but she liked it all the same.

When the server poured a sample into Mulder's wine glass, he deferred to her, and she sipped, accepting it with a nod and a smile.

They studied the menu, ordered and fell mute, Dana twisting her hands in her lap and staring at the candle flame. Conversation came easily with Mulder, but none of their usual topics felt appropriate. They understood each other so well, but there was still so much about the other that they didn't know. Were they supposed to ask first-date questions, filling in all the gaps like they were starting fresh?

As per usual, Mulder was the one to break the silence. "I got you a little something."

"But I left your gift at home," she protested as he pulled out a thin black velvet box.

He didn't respond and held out the box. She took it from him, opened it and gasped, feeling all the world like a jewelry commercial cliché.

As he watched her intently, she pulled out the slender gold rope.

"Oh, Mulder. It’s beautiful.”

"Let me."

Handing him the bracelet, he took her hand. Her skin sang as he worked the clasp then pulled her wrist to his lips and kissed it gently.

"I wanted to give you something to remind you that you are _mine_." He emphasized the last word and twisted her wrist to place a kiss on the back of her hand.

"I love it." The gold glittered in the candlelight, illuminating the surrounding skin.

"You're not just saying that? Because I did keep the receipt."

"Shhh. It's perfect." Immediately, she knew she would never take it off. With her gold cross, her neck was spoken for; now her wrist was also spoken for.

Gifts from Mulder tended to be either hastily selected or opaque puzzles—sometimes both. That he was chosen a piece of jewelry that she would have picked out in a store impressed her. But more than that, she now had something tangible that said "his." Something that wouldn't invite questions or scrutiny like a ring, but she would touch it and _know_. How could he have known she needed that? She didn't even realize it herself until he fastened it on her wrist.

"So." Mulder sat back in his chair and appraised her. "Tell me everything I don't know about Dana Katherine Scully."

She told him he would have to ask more leading questions than that, so he did. He finished his clam linguine far before she finished her eggplant parmesan, which was fine by her since the giddy feeling in her gut was suppressing her appetite, and she regretted ordering something quite so rich. She told him about her rambunctious childhood and her disappointing first boyfriend, about the person she was before they first met and the person she thought she would be now. The wine and his rapt attention warmed her. It still felt strange but good. Growing pains, she thought.

When the server handed him the check, Mulder asked him to hold on one second while he got his card. The server returned a few minutes later with receipt and pen in hand.

"Let me get the tip?" she offered.

"I got it," he replied, not looking up as he signed.

"What percent did you leave?"

"Not sure. I gave him ten."

She sighed and did some quick calculations in her head before pulling out a twenty and placing it in the billfold without looking at the contents.

"You don't have to do that."

"I know, but I also don't want us to leave a twelve percent tip."

"How did you—" he started before cutting himself off and giving her an affectionate smile. "Let's blow this joint."

His hand rested on her back as they left the restaurant, lower than how he usually touched her a work. The fresh air was welcome as they stepped into the night, clearing her mind and settling her wine flush. He tugged her closer and said in a low voice, "Don't suppose I could interest you in a quickie down that alley." He gestured toward the narrow path to the side of the restaurant, bifurcating the elegance of the restaurant from the griminess of the rest of the city.

"Rain check? I have other plans for you tonight."

"Is that so?"

She bit her lip, coy. "Mm-hmm."

"What sort of plans are we talking about?"

"Drive me home, and you'll find out."

Back at her apartment, she told him to sit down and declared it time for his present before disappearing into her bedroom. His eyes widened as he saw her lugging an unusually large and heavy box that she set on her coffee table.

Like a kid on Christmas morning, he tore into the wrapping paper eagerly, balling it and uncharacteristically missing the wastebasket. She gave him a look that said, "you're picking that up later."

His expression was quizzical when he saw she had given him a safe, and she indicated for him to open it.

"Scully..." he said in a low voice as he saw the camcorder and box of blank tapes within.

"You like?"

"This means what I think it means, right?"

"Assuming you think I intend us to make some videos to add to your collection."

"Can we...tonight?"

"If you want."

"Oh, I want. God, I want."

She was glad she had the foresight to get everything ready, blank tape in place and battery freshly charged.

He pointed the camcorder in her direction, and he seemed to be zooming in on her face, then it tracked down her body, slowing at the slit in her dress that exposed the side of her thigh to him.

"What are you doing?"

"Immortalizing you," he answered. "You're certainly ready for your close-up."

"Okay, Mr. DeMille."


	7. Valentine's Day, Part II

The second she heard the shower run, she reached for the camcorder and rewound to the beginning. She didn’t know why Mulder wasn’t as curious as she was about how it turned out. Maybe he was saving it for a special occasion, or maybe his vanity just wasn’t as strong as hers.

On the tiny viewfinder, she watched herself wrap the black straps of her heels around her ankles. _Put them back on_ , he had told her, and she acquiesced, though she had discarded them the second they got to her apartment. The heels were thinner than she was used to, and they pinched, but it did make for a great visual as she stretched her left leg to rub the bulge between his legs with the toe of her shoe. There was a jerk in the image as he had to correct the camera.

She watched herself slide off the couch and move between his legs, push his thighs apart and sink down on her knees. The shot focused on her fingers as they worked the buttons and zipper, working his pants down until they pooled around his ankles.

_This goes directly in the safe after tonight, right?_ , she had asked.

_Hand to God_ , he had promised, holding up his free hand.

_And you aren’t going to set the code to something stupid like your birthday?_

_Scully, I think you know me better than that._

She had cocked an eyebrow at him before pushing his boxers down, looking right into the lens as she left lipstick impressions down his length.

_You like that?_ , she had asked before swiping her tongue from root to tip. How strange, she had thought, to be talking to the camera in the moment while also speaking to future Mulder, watching their homemade porn alone in his dark apartment.

She was fascinated by the vision of herself before her. Lashes downcast as she took him into her mouth, flashing her eyes up at him, the sight of his cock passing between her lips. God, she had just created her own worst fear, but it was beautiful too. There was another benefit she hadn’t anticipated: the ability to observe their lovemaking from a distance, the kind of thing that appealed to her as a scientist. She watched the tip of her tongue reach out to flick him, as soft and gentle as an Eskimo kiss. On the screen, he flinched, made a strangled noise. That was the thing she most wanted to capture: his tenderness. The lighter the touch, he practically purred under her. She watched him thread his fingers through her hair, push her head down until she swallowed him.

Fast-forward. The juxtaposition of the delicate gold chain with the obscenity of her fist around his shaft, her lips around his balls, releasing them with a pop that would undoubtedly be audible when they watched this with sound. The lighting wasn’t great—next time they did this, she would take greater care.

Fast-forward. He lifted her head by a fist-full of hair, told her, _Baby, I’m not going to last much longer._ Her camera-self looked up, still working the tip with her tongue and said, _S’okay, we have all night,_ and he pushed her head back down.

Fast-forward. She was impressed and horrified at her own wrecked face as she looked up at him from between his thighs—lipstick gone but for a smear in the corner of her mouth, mussed hair, mascara pooling. There was a look of pure adoration in her eyes, and she wondered with a jolt if that’s what other people saw when she looked at him. If that expression was responsible for some of the innuendo and speculation that seemed to always follow them.

On film, Mulder was stroking her hair. That was the moment when she remembered she didn’t wear waterproof mascara and started to swipe under her eyes, looking at the black smudges on her fingers. _I’m sure I look a mess right now,_ she had said.

_A hot mess. The best kind of mess._

She hadn’t realized he zoomed in as he took her hand from her face, said, _Stop, I like it._ Squeezed the bracelet hard enough to sting. The subtle prickle of pain had sent shivers up her arm.

The image went black, then refocused on Mulder’s face, adjusting the angle up close. She could see herself in the background, gnawing on her lower lip as she waited on the bed, knees up and dress pooling around her upper thighs. _Act Two, Rolling,_ he had said, making her giggle.

“Must be good. You’re bright red.”

She jumped as she looked up to see Mulder standing at the end of her bed with a towel wrapped around his waist. She shoved the camcorder away from her like she was back in Catholic school and caught with contraband.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve never seen myself like that before,” she admitted.

“Really? You seemed like an old pro to me.”

She glared at him.

“That’s the highest form of praise, I promise.”

“It’s not like I’ve never been asked before.”

“The men that came before me would have been fools not to ask.” He replaced the towel with a fresh pair of boxers from his overnight bag. She made a mental note to hollow out a place for him to properly keep his clothes at her apartment.

He scooted into bed next to her and kissed her cheek, his damp hair fell over his eyes and left cold, wet streaks on her face. “So you mean to tell me I am the only person in possession of a Dana Scully sex tape?”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Everything about you surprises me.”

“Well, it’s kind of a big deal for me. It’s not exactly something I want floating around.”

“I’ll guard it with my life.” His tone was somber; she knew he wasn’t exaggerating.

With an apprehensive laugh, she said, “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“Hey,” he said gently, framing her face between his palms. He pinned her under his gaze. “This is the best gift anyone has ever given me.”

“I’m glad.”

“I mean it,” he continued. “It’s not just the video, though I guarantee you I will watch it until the tape is worn out. The fact that you trust me with this…I know what it means. And I appreciate the hell out of it.”

Dana had always been intrigued by the idea of making a sex tape, and a couple boyfriends had tried to persuade her to make one of their own, sweet-talking her about how beautiful and photogenic she was, how hot it would be, how it would only be for them. But even if the idea was exciting, she couldn't stop thinking about the potential ruin to her career and what it would feel like walking into work knowing her colleagues had seen her naked and penetrated. None of the rewards outweighed that fear. Even though her career had never been on shakier ground, and there were people out there who actively wanted to sabotage it, she wasn't nervous. Maybe it was a natural consequence of learning to live with the potential of being under surveillance at any time. At least if someone invaded his apartment and broke into the safe, she could know beyond a shadow of a doubt Mulder would not be responsible. That was enough to quell any lingering doubts.

On a selfish level, she wanted to infiltrate his video collection. Her concept of his relationship with pornography was always one of curiosity more than jealousy but that didn't stop her from browsing his collection from time to time, comparing herself to all the busty blondes on the covers, never sure if that was actually his preference or if that was just the majority of porn available to him. Before they became lovers, she got a thrill at some of his new tapes featuring redheads and office settings. At the time, she admonished herself for her narcissism. It must have been a coincidence.

He worked his way under the covers next to her, put an arm around her shoulder and on cue, she curled up against him. She kept waiting for it to feel mundane cuddling with him, but that had yet to happen; her brain continued to reward her with the same levels of oxytocin and dopamine from the feel of his warm skin against hers. Only now, that feeling wasn’t undercut with the giddiness and surreality of free-falling into her most secret dreams.

“Well, are you going to let me see?” he asked good-naturedly.

She set the camcorder on his bare stomach, tilting the viewfinder until she found an angle where they could both see and settling back against him.

“Scully, are you smelling me?”

She hadn’t even realized she was doing it, but her nose was against his chest, and she couldn’t help herself. “You smell good.”

“I smell like you.”

“I know. I like it.” She breathed in the scent of her orange and cardamom body wash, appreciating the subtle way it smelled different on his skin.

On the tiny screen, they watched the larger, fully nude man climb over the smaller woman. She liked that dynamic—fully clothed with a naked man on top of her. She had run her hands down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles shifting as he moved. The fabric of her dress had been slippery against his soft skin. He flipped her over, so she straddled him, his hands snaking up her dress to pull her panties down. They caught on her heel, and she reached back to toss them to the side.

She watched him maneuver her until she was hovering over his face. _Sit,_ he had commanded. When she didn’t comply, he had held her still as she squirmed against the sensation of his tongue against her sex.

_But the camera can’t see anything._

_So take your dress off. Slowly._

Even in the small monitor, she was awed by the confidence exuded by the woman she watched; she had to remind herself that that was her. Stripping for the cold black eye of the camera, pulling the dress first up over her knees, then exposing her lover’s head planted between her thighs, over her torso until she was wearing nothing but her black bra and her gold jewelry. Large hands over her breasts, tugging impatiently at the fabric until she reached behind to unfasten her remaining undergarment.

She looked up at him as he watched, felt like she was in a hall of mirrors, watching him watch himself look up at her from between her thighs. At the time, she had been too preoccupied with the things his tongue had been doing to gauge his hunger, the way he mouthed at her like he was trying to extract her soul from between her thighs. As she lay there, spent and sated with rubbery muscles, she wondered if it worked.

_I want you to look at the camera when you come. Can you do that for me, sweetheart?_

She snickered at the two people on screen awkwardly shifting to be better situated directly at the camera. They had broken character for a moment and laughed.

Two long fingers hooked into her mouth. She hadn’t remembered swallowing them so eagerly. It was one thing to show her participating in sexual acts, it was entirely another thing to demonstrate so wantonly.

His face was no longer visible, just his full head of hair and her fingers unconsciously running through it.

Maybe the hair obsession was mutual. As they watched, Mulder's hand crept behind her neck and rubbed her scalp, fingers running through the fresh waves that formed from her exertions. Somehow, the headband was still in place.

On screen, she was getting closer, but she lost herself in the moment and almost fell forward. They linked fingers, and he held her upright as her hips crashed into him. There was a violence to it that shocked her, only apparent from looking at it from the outside. He didn’t seem to mind. He was, after all, a man who knew how to take a punch in the face.

He tugged at a handful of hair as she watched herself come.

Her eyes had only opened at the last minute when she remembered he asked her to look at the camera. They were foggy with lust but a glint of something too. Triumph, maybe? Euphoria?

_That felt like a big one. I can’t wait to see._

It was her, but also not her. Not-her made her way down, not realizing or caring about the smear she left down the patch of hair on his chest.

Hidden from view behind her torso, he had taken one of their linked hands and placed it on his erection. Her face lit up, smug with the satisfaction of having landed herself such a rare creature: a man pushing forty with the refractory period of a nineteen-year-old having regular sex for the first time. A natural but welcome consequence of so many years of foreplay.

She looked good. She looked really good as she wriggled her way down the length of his body and sank down on him. She admired the way the warm light caught the toned contours of her body, the way her muscles moved in fluid, controlled movements.

She had shown off for the camera, riding him until her thighs were screaming. Behind her and out of view, he crept a finger down between her ass cheeks, hooked his finger in, found her wanting and ready.

Of course, he remembered. “One of these days,” he announced, “You’re going to ask me to fuck you there.”

“Oh yeah?” She looked up at him, amused.

"Oh yeah. When that day comes, I will be a very happy man."

"I bet you would be."

"Will be," he corrected.

"That's a little presumptuous, don't you think?"

"If you say so." On the viewfinder, she was leaning back which they both knew meant leaning into his finger. Evidence toward his theory, as per usual.

_Get on all fours, baby._

She remembered feeling self-conscious about how her breasts hung, but he didn’t let her dwell. He raked his nails down her back, and even though they were short, they still managed to light her skin on fire. A scrape of teeth over her tattoo. As he scratched down her thighs, she had imagined the trails of inflamed skin, hoping that marks would be left. Jutting her ass out like an animal and feeling the air between her legs, that had felt like the dirtiest thing they had done all night.

Mouth back between her legs, sucking at her inner thighs. Squirming against the overwhelming mix of pleasure, pain, and ticklishness as he had marked her.

While she loved the feel of doggie style sex, she had a preference for being face to face. With him, that is; it was never like that with any of her other partners. Tonight, it seemed, she got the best of both worlds. She could see his struggle to refrain from orgasm, the ecstasy contorting her face as he pounded into her.

He had grabbed both her breasts and pulled her back flush against him with an animalistic intensity, and she felt that familiar gush between her legs as he made a little noise of pleasure against her neck, reminding her that he noticed the effect he had on her—something he never missed a chance to point out. He sank his teeth into her shoulder, a predator taking down his prey, and she reared back, causing his teeth to sink in deeper.

She traced the red indentations and realized he turned his attention from the screen, watching her reaction to his marks, curious and maybe a little amused. Her lips curled.

His fingers had worked her clit until he felt her thighs start to shake.

_I was about to—_

_I know._

He had held her trapped under his hands as he pounded into her until he stilled and his head hung. They collapsed side by side, facing the camera but ignoring it.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Mulder said absently, twisting a lock of her hair between his fingers.

“Do you want to keep watching?”

“We’re just getting to the good part.”

_If you’re a good girl, I’ll let you come again._

_Thank you, Sir._ Her own words had sent an electric shock through her. Up until that moment, their video was fairly vanilla. But now, she had immortalized an essential truth about the nature of their relationship, and that somehow felt even more exposing.

He had placed his index finger on her chin and pushed her head up, her mouth pressed open in a wide "O."

_I want you to show the camera just how bad you want me._

She had sat back against the pillow as he stalked toward her, camera in hand.

_I’m going to get every inch of you on film._

He had traveled the history of her body. Her nipples, darker than they once were. Tiny silver scars that could only be picked up if the lens was practically grazing her skin. The puckered reminder of the time she bled out, gutshot. Hints of stretch marks. A body used, a body taken advantage of, a body taken on adventures.

She had felt ambivalent about the stare of her lover and the lens. She had also felt celebrated.

There was an artistry to the way he manipulated the camera, but that didn’t surprise her. Mulder had a creative mind, and he moved through the world as though picking up on some elusive frequency only he could hear.

There was something about the way she was laying back, limp and sprawled as he moved her limbs. She had felt like she was in the autopsy bay, only she was the one whose body had a story to tell. But he wanted to capture just how alive she was. The fresh flush of desire as she became acutely aware of her own vitality. The way her muscles contracted under his touch, how she chewed on her lower lip, self-conscious and alert, following his movements. When she tried to push her legs back together, he corrected her. _Show the camera what it looks like when you were just fucked._ His fingers grazed her vulva, and she writhed, hypersensitive, under his touch.

_Over._ He had given her side a gentle shove, and she obeyed, rolling over on her stomach. Her skin striped with long, red fingernail tracks. Zoom in on her tattoo; his fascination with her ink seemed bottomless. Mostly she forgot it was there until she caught a glimpse in the mirror.

_Touch yourself. Be slow about it._

She had lifted her hips slightly as she slid her hand under her stomach and down between her legs.

_Show me what you do when you’re alone and thinking about me._

She had met his eyes when she rolled onto her back and fanned her legs. The slight intake of air from him told her he was not expecting such an eager display. When she dipped two fingers inside herself, he sucked on his lower lip. It seemed she rendered him speechless, she had recognized with a swell of pride.

_What do you think about when you touch yourself?_

_You, bursting through the door between our hotel rooms. You don’t say anything, you just take me._

_Take you how?_

_On my knees. From behind._

_How long have you had that fantasy?_

Hesitation. They hadn’t had this conversation yet. _A while._

He had kept an impassive expression, but the corners of his lips betrayed him.

_Good girl. You can go faster now. You’re getting close again, aren’t you?_

Nod.

The second her thighs had started shaking again, he slapped her hand sharply and pressed her palm into her mound, effectively stopping her movements. He began to drive her fingers, and she relaxed under his guidance, resetting, getting closer, closer. She felt like she was going to burst, and the pressure had built to the point of actual pain like if she didn’t come in that precise moment, she was going to collapse. That’s when the peak of her pleasure crashed over her, and she must have shouted, but she couldn’t quite hear her own voice over the explosion of sensation.

The video stopped abruptly, missing the way he had stroked her hair, her cheek, her lips. The way she had felt pinned by the adoration in his eyes. At that moment, she had realized how much he had been enjoying these new games they were playing. There was a light in his eyes like she hadn’t seen since the first time they met, but there was another layer to it as well, a level of personal satisfaction.

“What do you think?”

“I think we made something beautiful together.”

She wanted to make more beautiful things with him, for the energy between them to spark off into new life. She wanted to bear his beautiful child—someone bright-eyed and startlingly intelligent. She wanted something that could only be constructed between their two bodies, their two minds, their two souls. She wanted to preserve them, trap them in amber. She had long ago stopped underestimating what the world would take away from her.

They had this, though. She hoped it would never become a reminder of something they lost. She prayed any nostalgia she felt watching this video in the future would only be nostalgia for a body in its prime fitness and sexual peak.

“I thought about you, too,” he admitted, drawing a line down her breastbone. “I tried not to. I watched my videos, deliberately thought about anyone else but it didn’t matter. The moment I got close, you came into my head. You wouldn’t go away.”

“I never will.” She kissed the tip of his nose. It was so easy to make his face brighten these days.

“When did you first start thinking about me?” she asked, tilting her head upon his chest to look at him. She was so curious that she wasn’t put off the by the fact that he would almost certainly ask her the same question.

“A few years ago.”

Oh.

“When was going through my cancer?”

He looked away, a slight pinkness to his cheeks. She got the impression there was some real shame there, and she decided not to press it. She remembered the acute emotions that swirled around them during that time, lust and anger and frustration that seemed ready to boil over and became wholly subsumed by her encroaching mortality. A clear image came to her: Mulder, alone with his dick in his hand, reeling from the events with Ed Jerse, filled with shame and self-loathing but unable to stop himself.

She didn’t want to tell him that for her, it started after their first case in Bellefleur. That she used to let herself indulge in her fantasies, because it was just an innocent workplace crush, and it made the duller parts of their work more interesting. That she forced herself to stop thinking about him that way when it became too painful and fraught, and the Mulder of her fantasies turned into a faceless, Mulder-shaped man—a type she never knew she had. It was like that right up until she recovered from her illness. The fantasies returned, and she let them. She no longer saw the point in shutting herself off from anything that made her feel more connected to life.

One day, she would want to compare notes with him, track the progression of their relationship from the start. They would untangle the complexities of their past. There were so many things that still needed to be said. But tonight, she was content with the symbols they had offered each other, tangible representations of ownership and trust.

Mulder played idly with the gold chain around her wrist. Right now, they didn’t need words.

* * *

Dana grasped at empty, cool sheets before her eyes flew open. A sick lurch as she considered all the possibilities. There were so many possibilities.

Mulder was never here tonight. Someone wearing Mulder’s body came for blackmail material, and she delivered.

She tasted bile. Her equilibrium was all off as she snatched a robe from a hook on her closet door and reached for the gun on her nightstand. The weight of it reassured her, grounded her.

Mulder was taken by someone. There are so many people in the world that would have reason to take him, so many monsters shaking the bars of their cells waiting for an opportunity for revenge.

She moved to the door, listening for any noises that would indicate he was somewhere in the apartment. There was no light from under the bathroom door, and the apartment was silent but for the city noises that drifted through her window: the sound of brakes, a hushed conversation, a lonesome dog’s howl.

Mulder was off on an adventure. She wouldn’t hear from him for a couple days, as he made characteristically brash choices. And their lives would, inevitably, get worse for a while. She would no longer be the first thing he thought of.

She admonished herself for thinking that way as a faint snore from the living room reassured her that all was right with the world. She sighed, felt slightly ridiculous as she snapped her weapon back in its holster.

Mulder was sleeping on her couch, lips parted and breathing steadily. He was only wearing his boxer shorts, and the afghan she left folded on the back of sofa had fallen off into the ground. In his sleep, he pulled his knees toward his chest in the fetal position. She wondered with a pang how often he slept like that, cold and alone on his own couch, curling into himself like a child. The television was displaying static, and a set of cables wound from the camcorder to behind the tv.

She set the gun down on his coffee table and bent to press the power button on the remote when she heard him stir behind her.

“Hey.” His voice was thick. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“So you came out here to watch our video?”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Glad to know our sex tape puts you to sleep.”

“Don’t feel bad, Scully. I’ve fallen asleep to all my favorite porn stars.”

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” she asked, more amused than offended. “Besides, I’m not a porn star.”

He shushed her, tugged at her wrist belligerently until she lay next to him on the couch. She was grateful for her small frame; if she was any larger, there was no way this would be quite as comfortable. As it was, the couch felt as though it was tailor-made to fit just their two bodies side by side.

“You were tonight,” he murmured into her hair. “But _you_ are the _real deal_.”

She almost toppled to the floor as she reached for the afghan. Mulder steadied her with a strong arm around her waist then helped her arrange the blanket over both their bodies. As she pulled it to her chin, she realized her hand was shaking and willed them to stop. Her heart rate started to return to normal as he squeezed her closer, breathed her in.

“Any particular reason you couldn’t sleep tonight?” she ventured. She could make an educated guess. Something about capturing their youth and the honeymoon phase of their relationship lent itself to an existential crisis.

“I was just thinking.” She could practically hear him carefully formulating his thoughts behind her. “Our lives will go forward, our relationship will inevitably change with time, as all relationships do. Our bodies will change. What will it be like watching that video in ten years, twenty years, fifty years?”

“You’re afraid it will be a sad experience.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to fuck this up,” he admitted. “It’s only a matter of time before you come to your senses.”

“That’s awfully negative.”

She couldn’t imagine Mulder speaking so bluntly in the day. This was an admission that could only come when they were alone together in the dark.

“They say the depressed have a more realistic view of the world.”

“Are you depressed, Mulder?”

“No.”

She twisted around to face him. His face was so close, his features were distorted and blurred. It was too strange to look him like that, so she buried her face in his neck.

“You should learn to take yes for an answer.”

“Oh, I’ll take all your yes’s, alright. There were so many of them, I had to keep track of them in an itemized list.”

She laughed against his skin.

“I love that sound,” he sighed.

“What?”

“Your laughter.”

The atmosphere in the room darkened. Something about the way he was talking sent splinters of ice through her gut.

“Scully, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“So are you.”

“You know that’s objectively untrue.”

Apparently, Mulder would never stop feeling like the consolation prize for her screwed up life.

“You want to know how I imagine us watching that video?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I see us watching it together when we are much older and grayer, and we will look back fondly on how our bodies used to look.”

“And then I pop a blue pill so we can make awkward, geriatric love.”

“We’ll be grateful we caught the moment,” she mused, resting her lips on his pulse point.

“You want to be with me when you’re old and gray?”

“Who else?”

“I don’t know. You don’t see yourself with some successful, intelligent doctor-type? Probably has primary custody of children from a previous marriage. Or at least he would have a dog. A golden retriever, most likely. He won’t have my dashing good looks, but he will be handsome in a distinguished way.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Mulder, why don’t you let me worry about what’s good for me?”

“Because sometimes you don’t.”

“Are you trying to push me away right now?”

She leaned back, suddenly overwhelmed by the cloying heat of him.

“It seems to be working,” he said wryly. “Sorry. My mind goes places at three in the morning.”

His eyes were soft with genuine remorse, and she didn’t want to fight. They were both learning not to pick at the scabs. She turned on her side and wriggled back against him to tell him she wasn’t mad. He responded by pulling her closer.

As he reached down her arm, she welcomed his fingers by opening her own, but instead, he wrapped his hand around her wrist, pressing the gold tight against her skin. Even when his breathing slowed, and it was her turn to lay awake with a racing mind while he dozed, the pressure on the bracelet didn’t slacken.

_His._


	8. Collar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I didn't want to post again until I finished drafting most of the upcoming chapters and could commit to something like a regular schedule. Next chapter should be out next week and subsequent chapters I'm aiming for every 1-2 weeks. Thanks for reading :D

As the only store open in the empty strip mall, light poured out of it like a beacon.

It was clear Mulder was anticipating more of a reaction, though _what_ reaction he expected was unclear. Her surprise when she figured out where he was taking her—the mannequins in the front window were dressed in lingerie racy enough to suggest that the store offered all manner of sexual aids—was fleeting.

Now she understood why he had been so cryptic about where he was taking her. He had been so fidgety all night that—for approximately ten giddy, surreal minutes—she convinced herself he was going to propose though a proposal on her birthday didn’t seem like his style.

Bells chimed as Dana pushed the door open, and Mulder tailed behind her. The saccharine scent of candles was offset by the earthy sweetness of incense. Beneath the enticing fragrances of the products, she detected hints of PineSol wafting from scrubbed tiles.

It reminded her of the shop she frequented at home with its all-female staff and self-consciously clean environment. Closer to work than home, she always wore something with a hood to cover her ever-identifiable hair; she would rather the innuendo and speculation about her in the Bureau not extend to her selection of sex toys. All those anxieties faded as soon as she got inside. While she normally liked being left alone while shopping, she found she enjoyed chatting with the women that worked there. They were the kind of girls she would have befriended in college, their refreshing openness drawing her into their orbit. As someone who visited crime scenes and performed autopsies for a living, she appreciated others who were able to look at death and sex from an objective remove. She imagined the girls that worked here had the same stilted conversations with her family, answering “Fine” to every “How was your day, honey?” because that was easier than telling the truth. Moms didn’t like to think about their daughters cutting into corpses just as they didn’t like to think about them selling lube and artificial penises for a living.

The girl behind the counter had bottle-black hair, the top half twisted in two buns at the crown of her head with the rest laying ruler-straight down her back. A few well-defined strands framed her face, held from her eyes by a pair of black-rimmed glasses. A rainbow of tattoos swirled down her arms without sparing a centimeter of skin. A bloom of flowers extended across her collarbone and disappeared into her armpit. Dana was both impressed and alarmed that the girl was able to get so many high quality tattoos at her young age. That took commitment—and money.

“Welcome.” The girl greeted her warmly, looking up as she priced bottles of flavored lube. Dana was familiar with this process: after a brief greeting when she walked in the door, the girl would let her wander the store for a couple minutes, studying her body language for signs of confusion, urgency or a desire to be left alone. The second approach would involve a personal introduction and offer to answer any questions.

While the walls were lined with boxes of cheap lingerie, and on hangers were rows upon rows of beautiful corsets and teddies with subtle, elegant details. She had already decided to choose at least two items—a birthday present to herself—and she was going to have a hard time choosing.

As she wandered toward the latex and leather area, she held up a black teddy that plunged in the front but wrapped around the neck in a choker. The rubber smell was pungent.

Mulder snuck up behind her and put his face next to hers, pretending he was trying to see exactly what she was seeing as an excuse to get close to her. She didn’t mind. Her belly tickled with warmth as his evening stubble tickled her cheek.

“What brings you in today?” the girl asked from a safe remove.

“Just looking for now, thank you.”

“We might have some questions later.” Mulder’s eyes had a cult leader sparkle.

The girl smiled politely at him before fixing her gaze on Dana. “If you have any questions, please let me know. My name is Camilla.”

Camilla retreated to behind the counter, where she appeared to be concealing a novel, or, more likely, a textbook. The girl demonstrated how much attention she was paying when she silently handed Dana a basket as soon as she saw her folding a second chemise over her arm. As she turned to leave, she noticed Dana eyeing the size label on a corset.

“They follow chest size, like the band size for your bra. This one is a 38.”

“Thanks.”

She returned the item and found an identical item in her size.

“Would you like to try it on?”

“No,” she said too quickly. “Yes, actually. I’d like that.”

“I’ll show you how to lace it properly. If you haven’t worn one before.”

“I wore one at a Renaissance Fair once.” At Camilla’s raised eyebrows: “My sister dragged me to it. She laced the corset, so if there’s a trick to it, I haven’t learned it.”

“It’s definitely easier with two people. Are you close, you and your sister?”

Dana sighed. The awkward pitfalls of bringing up her sister. But if she stopped bringing up Melissa altogether, it felt like the worst kind of betrayal.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” Camilla said, immediately aware the question was too personal. Dana attempted to rearrange her face into something resembling a smile.

Camilla’s face had fallen so dramatically Dana felt an urge to apologize for the overstep even though it wasn't her’s.

“It’s okay. I don't mind talking about her.”

“What was her name?”

“Melissa.”

Dana imagined Camilla’s face if she told her the truth. _She was shot in the head with a bullet intended for me. She was only at my apartment because I asked for her. She died unnaturally, hooked up to machines—a concept she found abhorrent._ The grief wasn’t as acute these days; it was a dull ache she was accustomed to carrying. She wore it like an armor.

“Yes, we were close.”

Camilla led her to the changing room hidden in the corner of the store. She explained how it laced from the middle and tightened accordingly before popping out all the silver eyelets to split the corset in two.

She held the loose corset over her breasts as she emerged from the dressing room, turning her back to the girl. Camilla’s fingers brushed Dana’s bare back as she tugged the laces. She felt self-conscious about the little gasping noises she couldn’t help making as the corset tightened around her at irregular intervals and tried to play it off with a laugh.

“Are you claustrophobic at all?” Camilla asked.

“A little,” Dana admitted. “It’ll pass.”

When Camilla made her way to the top, she could actually see the cleavage forming before her eyes. She caught Mulder staring at her from the corner of her eye.

“Get that,” he mouthed, pointing at her chest and flashing her a thumbs up before disappearing.

“I think that’s a ‘yes’ from your friend.”

“Parter.”

“From your partner,” she agreed. “All done. What do you think?”

Camilla backed away. Dana already knew she was going to buy it, but she took a moment to admire the way the piece exaggerated her waist and pushed up her breasts. Every breath was shallow and felt hard-earned.

“I’ll take it. Can you let me out?”

Camilla chuckled good-naturedly at the phrasing, her fingers working quickly to tug the laces out.

Dana took the opportunity to try on a couple other items before leaving her basket with Camilla at the cash drawer. The store was neatly divided between the front and back areas with a laminated sign warning anyone who crosses that boundary to have their identification out.

A colorful array of vibrators ranged from sparkling, gummy rabbits to more utilitarian bullets to industrial-strength wand massagers. It segued into the dildo section with its variety of flesh tones and decidedly-not-flesh tones. On the other side of the expansive room, the more taboo implements were displayed, just out of sight from the front of the store. An extensive anal section led to the leather area, where Mulder was holding a black hood and considering it pensively.

“I’m not sure how I feel about these,” he mused as he turned to her. “The dehumanizing element. Though I suppose I understand the impulse.”

“Are you dropping hints, Mulder?”

“No. This would be dropping hints.”

He hung the hood back its hook and picked up a simple, black leather collar. Holding it up to her throat, he nudged her to the left so she stood in front of the full-length mirror situated near the collars.

She glanced at the girl behind the back counter, her Manic Panic red hair in a wavy bob, flipping through a porn catalog and making notes on a legal paid using a pen with a penis at the top—presumably placing an order for new DVDs. Possibly stoned, she cackled at something, the laughter drawing the attention of a definitely stoned, androgynous person who wandered out from the back.

No one seemed to notice the electric charge that crackled around them. The collar tightened and slackened as he buckled it. A feeling of calm, of mindlessness came over her. It was as though he was everywhere, like the way he draped over her with octopus limbs when they slept together. She could feel herself sinking back into that space where she stopped registering anything except the sensation of existing in her body in that moment. The two-inch-thin strip of leather was cool on her neck; the tip of the o-ring that tickled her clavicle was cooler still. It was an amusing juxtaposition against her—in retrospect—momish cardigan.

“Can we wear this out?” he asked the girl working the back counter, pointing at Dana’s neck.

She swatted him and apologized on his behalf to the employee, who seemed rightfully confused about whether or not he was joking. He never had to work service jobs; he didn’t know the dread an ambiguous joke elicited.

She moved to unbuckle the collar from behind her neck, letting her fingers trail over the smooth leather first.

“Let me do that,” he said in an undertone, and she dropped her hands as though trained.

Her neck felt bare when he peeled the leather back. He clenched it in his fist and held it tight against his thigh, out of full sight from her.

“They also have them like this.” He dangled a collar with the o-ring sewn into the middle.

“But with that one…” She pitched her voice as low as it would go leaning closer so they were in their private bubble. “…You could lead me around. Right?” Her voice cracked around the question.

“That’s right.” His radiant grin widened.

“Don’t look so smug, you,” she said lightly, turning away from him.

He shrugged. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

She felt justified in rolling her eyes.

They turned their attention back to the wall with its overwhelming array of torture devices, which ranged from wrist cuffs so fragile they looked to be symbolic only to cruel whips that appeared to be the same height as Mulder.

He picked up a leather paddle with sharp studs along one side and slapped his own arm.

“Oww.” His lips turned down in an exaggerated pout.

“I think that’s the point.”

“Hey, Scully.”

She turned toward him sharply, flinching at the use of her surname and realizing she had been employing the same mental processes in this store as she did when they were undercover.

Still, she held out her arm to him and let him swat her with a leather flogger. Something about the way the leather brushed against her skin, the sharp sting and the underlying pressure, resounded through the muscles in her arm and stirred something in her.

Dana ran her fingers along the ridges of a plastic box of Japanese drip candles—black, red and blue—and met his eye for only a second. She too knew how to drop hints. Had that come up on the list? She would have checked the “maybe” box at the time. When headier pleasures felt more dangerous, before she realized they made her feel nourished rather than degraded.

“You’re a doctor.” Mulder’s voice shook her out of her wandering thoughts. “Is this medically possible?”

He turned her attention to a butt plug so large it had to be held by two wall hooks.

“That has to be a foot tall,” she said with equal parts awe and revulsion.

“And wide,” he agreed.

“My medical opinion is that this is a gag gift. But medical journals hardly keep us abreast of what emergency rooms learn the human body is capable of fitting.”

“Ah yes, I suppose this particular line of inquiry belongs exclusively to us lay-people.”

“Though I once had to extract a mobile phone from a man’s rectum in my medical residency.”

Mulder winced.

“It was the _eighties_ ,” she emphasized, enjoying how he squirmed, like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“What was the recovery for that like?”

“Fairly mild, actually,” she mused. “He had some superficial tearing but that was mostly caused by the extraction. And that would have been quite unpleasant, but nowhere near the kind of trauma you would expect.”

“So he practiced?”

“And used proper technique, as inadvisable as the object of choice was.”

“Did they teach you all about proper technique in medical school?”

She ignored his lascivious expression and turned to the male massagers, unfortunate little rubbery contraptions such that they were. Glancing at the massive wall of vibrators and insertable toys intended for women, she felt a little sad for the men and their sparse, peculiar options. They were either designed to enlarge or harden the penis—like the pumps and the rings—or they were vaguely creepy, like the rubber cubes featuring bisected mouths, vulvas and anuses. A slice of a sex doll to-go.

“You ever use something like this?” She indicating a nuclear-green cock sleeve covered in round protrusions, reminiscent of Roswell kitsch.

He shook his head. “Never saw a point. Always had my hand and my imagination.”

Knowing his mind, his erotic imagination must have been a rich and sensuous place. No wonder he had taken so well to his former lifestyle of celibacy.

“Speaking of which, you seem remarkably unfazed by their extensive video collection.”

“Videos haven’t been as interesting to me lately. Other than one in particular.”

“Oh, come on. You don’t need to pretend on my account. I know pornography serves a distinct and separate purpose in a man’s erotic life.”

“And what purpose is that?” he asked, clearly baiting her.

“It’s a safe way to fulfill the natural desire for novelty while remaining committed to one’s partner.”

“You think I have a desire for novelty?”

“Don’t all men?”

“That’s a rather reductive way of looking at the male gender. And here I thought porn just helped me jerk off faster.”

“Please. You were practically a hobbyist about it.”

“Sure, when I was very, very single.”

She gave him a look.

“What?” he asked, almost offended.

“Mulder, you don’t need to worry about me feeling threatened by you using pornography. I don’t think it’s the equivalent of cheating or any such nonsense.”

“I know you’re comfortable with it. Pretty sure I would be out of a government job if you weren’t.”

She snorted. “That was before we were…together.”

“My point exactly.”

He was going to keep talking circles with her forever, so she had to punch through it with directness. “ _My_ point is that you don’t need to feel like you need to hide it from me now.”

“Thank you,” he said with a level of sincerity she wasn’t used to from him. “But I really haven’t been as interested lately. Maybe it reminds me of being alone.” He considered his thought for a moment before shrugging.

“Maybe you need to make new memories.”

He licked his lower lip. “I like the sound of that.”

She held his gaze for a moment before lifting her shopping cart. “I better get this taken care of.”

He didn’t follow her as her boots clicked on the white tile, and she was pleased he didn’t insist on paying; she started to get the impression he enjoyed spending money on her. While it was always nice to be the recipient of a gesture, spending money on herself was one of her few indulgences in an otherwise spartan lifestyle. And she did especially enjoy spending her paycheck signed by the U.S. government on lingerie.

The girl praised her for her selections as she removed the security tags and folded up the items neatly in tissue paper before setting them in a branded paper bag.

“Would you mind if I take a closer look at your arms?” Dana asked after she took her receipt from the girl.

Camilla twisted her arms to show the epic nautical story etched into her skin—sirens and shipwrecks, a giant squid wrapped around her forearm to disguise puffy white slashes that Dana had not noticed; she wouldn’t have asked to see her arms if she had. They shared a knowing look.

“This one loves her ink,” Mulder offered helpfully, materializing from the back of the store and ending the moment between the two women. They both turned their attention to Dana.

The bag he was holding looked surprisingly full and heavy. A thrill ran through her as she contemplated what it might contain. Still, Mulder was awarded one of her patented death glares.

“Oh, do you have any other tattoos?” Camilla asked.

“Other?”

“I noticed the snake when I was lacing your corset,” she explained. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you. And no. No other tattoos.”

Back to business, Camilla asked, “Would you like to sign up for our email list? You will get 25% off your next purchase.” She indicated a paper of handwritten email addresses on the counter.

“Thank you, but we are just passing through.” The thought of leaving her email address in this establishment as a matter of public, written record almost made her laugh.

Was she crazy, or did the girl’s face fall just a little bit?

“Thanks for all your help, Camilla. Have a great night.”

Mulder’s hand snaked around her back, his palm resting on her tattoo through layers of fabric.

A low fog had crept in the parking lot while they were in the shop. It took her a moment to find the car in the parking lot, camouflaged by the thick haze.

“Well, that was certainly interesting,” Dana said as she buckled her seatbelt.

“I’ll say. I’m surprised she didn’t slip you her phone number.”

“You think she was flirting with me?”

“It was pretty obvious.”

Dana thought back to their interaction, the way the girl’s eyes lingered over her face before looking away shyly. She couldn’t help smiling as she looked out the window at the faint outline of trees streaming past them.

“She was just doing her job. Can you even see in this fog?”

The turn signal clicked, and Mulder waited until a car passed before pulling out into the street.

“Enough.”

“If it gets any worse, we’re pulling over.” She hunkered down in her seat, pulling the collar of her jacket around her ears and putting her hands between her thighs to warm them.

“Cold?” He moved toward the heat dials.

“I’m fine. I don’t want to fog up the car.”

He turned the heat on in defrost mode and the temperature rose incrementally.

“I swear, if your little detour results in us stranded in this car all night…” she warned.

“Don’t you think it’s about time we christened my car?”

“Optimistic of you to assume anything would be christened tonight.”

“ _Ouch._ ”

“Need I remind you that you scheduled an 10 AM autopsy for me tomorrow morning?”

“That’s why I scheduled it for mid-morning.”

“And we have to drive two hours to get there.”

“Point taken. But I can still give you birthday sex. I’ll just make it really quick,” he deadpanned.

“As tempting as that offer is, I’ll have to pass.” She yawned at the long day of work and Mulder. He was a source of energy for her, until he wasn’t.

“So are you going to tell me what you got?” she asked by way of changing the conversation.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

The blanket of fog seemed to be pulling them forward like some kind of vortex. Dana rested her cheek against the cool window and contemplated all the possibilities.


	9. Birthday Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Period sex. This chapter is rated NC-17.

# Birthday Candles

Dana sighed as she watched the trickle of blood run down her thigh to the shower drain. Tonight, they were supposed to be celebrating her birthday. At least she presumed that based on the fact that Mulder a room—his treat—rather than making the two-hour drive home. To his credit, he did manage to find a hotel that was a few levels nicer than their usual accommodations.

Of course, neither she nor Mulder had any way of knowing her period would arrive today. This was the first time since they started sleeping together, as it now appeared at frustratingly irregular intervals. She indulged her self pity, thinking of all the great sex they could be having tonight as she scrubbed.

Whatever. They have plenty of opportunities for that. She would tell him her body was closed for business tonight, maybe offer him a consolation blowjob.

She rinsed the last of the conditioner from her hair and turned off the water, drying herself with a towel slightly less scratchy than she was used to on the road.

After an indulgently long shower in the poorly ventilated bathroom, the steam turned the air soupy. Her skin drank it in gratefully.

The door opened, a rush of cool air invading her humid sanctuary and a billow of steam pouring over…Mulder. Of course. He loved snatching her up when she got out of the shower; why would today be any different?

He waved the steam away from his face, exposing a broad grin and a glint in his eyes that made her wary.

“Mulder, I’m—”

“Aunt Flo brought you a birthday present?” He slipped behind her, pressing his hips into her back and kissing the top of her head. Fingers traced her neck, and she bit her tongue to keep from moaning.

“How did you know?” There was no discernible pattern for him to track, not anymore.

“You started taking your bag with you into the bathroom. You only do that when it’s that time of the month.”

He worked his way down the side of her neck while absently twisting a nipple. The other hand was behind his back, holding something out of view.

He noticed her stiff posture. “Scully, since when have you known me to be afraid of a little blood?”

“Do you want me to answer honestly?”

“It’s your blood. That’s different.”

“I feel…gross.” It wasn’t the right word but a better one escaped her.

“That’s too bad. You look good enough to eat.” His teeth scraped down her spine, sending sparks through the muscles in her back. God, she wanted nothing more than to relax into his touch, let him carry her away to that place where only pleasure mattered. It was too intimate, too soon. Too, well, gross.

“Will you try something on for me?”

“Uh, sure.” She tried to turn to face him, but he held her in place with a gentle palm and directed her toward the fogged mirror. She could only see blurry impressions of their colors—brown hair, red hair, golden skin and…a strap of black?

The leather closed around her throat.

His cock pressed, swollen, against her lower back as he leaned forward to wipe the steam off of the mirror.

That unclean feeling started to melt. With every breath, she felt the resistance of the leather. Emotions that were acute and stabbing just a minute ago felt like more of an echo.

He rocked his hips, his erection splitting the top of her ass, telling her in no uncertain terms how much he wanted her. She winced, unable to trust the wetness gathering on her upper thigh was her arousal.

“What do you think?”

“I like the way it feels.” Again, she couldn’t find adequate words.

He tugged at the buckle. “You know what this means, right?”

“What does it mean?”

“It means you belong to me.”

She closed her eyes as he cupped her breasts.

“It means you listen to me when I tell you how much I want you. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Sir.”

“It means I don’t give a fuck if it’s that time of the month. I. Always. Want you. Understand?”

“I understand,” she whimpered.

“Do you want to make love?” His voice was gentle now.

“Yes.”

“Let me make love to you.”

“Okay.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

He curled two long fingers through the o-ring, and her thighs clenched, an instinct triggered by the memory of his fingers. He tugged on the collar, effectively dragging her to the bedroom, where the bed had been partially stripped and completely covered with towels.

“That seems like overkill, don’t you think? How much blood do you think there is?” She stifled a laugh, assuming she was expected to quell the instinct to tease him when she was wearing the collar.

“Oh, the towels? That’s not for the blood.”

“What for, then?”

“Close your eyes.”

The air shifted as he moved behind her, and she crossed her arms, hugging her chest. Fabric draped over her eyes, cutting off her sight. If she had to guess, it was one of his ties. He pulled it into a firm knot behind her head.

Her senses ignited, heart pounding as her body instinctively recognized danger. But the fear subsided as his fingers danced lightly over her skin, tracing the contours of her body.

She let him guide her to the bed. He removed her bracelet, and she understood why when she heard that familiar clink of metal.

The cuffs snapped shut. Her breath came hard and fast.

She felt him lie beside her, kissing the line of her jaw, hands roaming her body. “Are you okay, honey?”

She nodded.

“Is the blindfold too tight?”

She shook her head.

His lips met hers with a tenderness she desperately needed from him at that moment. Her limbs slackened, and she let herself sink into the bed, into his gentle touch.

He whispered to her as his lips traveled down her body, told her to relax, to let go, to let him take care of her. A finger split her in two, curled inside her, massaged her.

“How does that feel, baby?”

She realized she was holding her breath and let it out in one long, satisfied sigh.

“Good. Really good.”

Something was touching her clit—something softer and wetter than his thumb.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You don’t have to…”

“Shh.” He pecked at the engorged flesh with full lips. “Let me make love to you.”

The unabashed intimacy made her eyes prickle with tears and her heart swell with gratitude. She spent all day feeling mildly repulsive. A grueling autopsy and confrontation with a less-than-hygienic perp did not help.

But her lover was lapping at her like she was still the best thing he ever tasted. The world narrowed until it was just the two of them. Fingers working her harder, harder, tongue moving faster, head shaking as he clasped his lips to her clit.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. Each panting breath told him _don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop._

He knew better than to stop. He carried her over the edge, licking at her gently as her muscles started to relax, kissing down inside her thighs in red little nips. When his dainty attacks made her squirm away from him, he pulled her back towards him with the tenderest of kisses on her burning skin.

She relaxed into his touch, the initial pain transmuting into pleasure.

“Do you want to know what happens now?” he asked her.

“Tell me, Sir.”

“I’m going to drip hot candle wax all over your body while I fuck you. If you’re a good girl and come from my cock and my cock alone, I’m going to flip you over and spank you, one for every year of the life of Dana Katherine Scully.”

Wet lips on her knee, working their way down her shin. She wondered what awkward contortions allowed him reach under her calf, kissing all the way up until he got to the top, tongue flicking against the back of her knee. She never knew how sensitive she was there. She shuddered.

“I had a feeling that would be more reward than punishment for you.”

“You would be correct, Sir.”

He chuckled as he scraped his teeth against her thigh.

“What’s your safe word?”

“Red.”

“And what do you tell me if you want me to slow down or do something else?”

“Yellow.”

“Good girl.”

The bed shifted as he left, and she felt suddenly very alone and exposed. She shivered as she thought of being abandoned like this and reminded herself that she was hardly incapacitated; she needed only to make her way to her own handcuff keys.

All searing anticipation, she clasped at the pillow behind her head and pressed her legs together as something hard plastic was pried open.

His voice was in her ear, low but close enough to send vibrations through her cartilage. “What excites you more, baby? Is it the thought of my big cock giving you what you need? Or is it the thought of me hurting you?”

“Both,” she whispered.

A blast of cool air as he moved from her ear. His lips were everywhere—her nipples, her ribs, down her neck and up her thighs—until his cock split her in two, filling her completely, and she knew immediately that she would be able to come again and just from him.

A click of a lighter, and she waited—muscles wire-tight as he moved in slow, fluid motions—for the pain. There was only pleasure coursing through her, swelling with every downstroke.

He pulled her legs around his hips, and she lifted to meet him and oh God, stinging liquid drop, drop, drop between her breasts, down to her navel. Drop drop drop coating her breasts, tugging at her skin as it dried.

A bloom of delicious agony on each of her nipples.

He focused on a delicate spot right between her breasts, fire against bone. The sting lasted longer, and she sank into what she identified as an endorphin rush.

“ _Shit_ ,” he said, voice infused with awe. He held her hip in place with his free hand while the other manipulated the candle. Each drop—across her stomach now—made her tense and release instantly, leaving her anesthetized.

She yelped as the wax fell on places she wasn’t expecting—her thighs, the indent of her waist—unable to help herself from writhing against the towels. Still, the pain was entirely pleasant; it never lingered long enough to become anything but.

She was grateful that she didn’t have to look at him. The blindfold allowed her to retreat into herself, to focus entirely on the way their bodies felt together. She felt herself getting closer, closer, closer.

“Harder,” she gasped. “Fuck me harder.”

He obliged with a growl, pounding into her with purpose as she got closer still—“Yes, just like that, oh, fuck. Fuck!”

She couldn’t feel the wax any more and wondered if he blew out the candle, but there it was, a thick stream of heat pooling on her stomach, pushing her over the edge. She released with a shudder around him, her hips jerking against him of their own accord as he kept his steady, brisk pace.

“You did so good.” He stroked her hair.

“Mmm.” She smiled, nuzzling against his palm. Cock drunk. Pain drunk. Collar drunk. Entirely overwhelmed but sated.

She heard him blow out the candle, and the smell of smoking wick filled the air. Her mother, who found the scent sad, used to say it smelled like the party was over.

No more wax, only the feeling of _him_ striking her, every thrust somehow deeper.

He pulled out and lay against her, running his hands down the length of her body. Her oversensitive skin trembled under his touch. She thought of a cat that used prowl the San Diego base. She was fascinated by the way his muscles rippled like water under her touch. Eventually, she learned it was the symptom of a neurological disorder, a response to overstimulation. Still, she imagined her own skin undulating under his fingertips, shiny and diaphanous as fur.

“Get ready, baby,” he said softly.

She rolled onto her stomach, arching her butt up, adjusting so she wasn’t pressing her weight into the cuffs. Bruising would be far easier to hide and heal and hide than lacerations.

He rubbed her ass cheeks, warming her and waking her nerves, sending shivers of anticipation down her limbs. She was expecting him to get right to it, but he seemed to have fallen back into foreplay mode—not that she minded.

Full wet lips on the apex of her ass, tongue dipping into the crack. She jumped against the bed at the tickle.

“I just want to keep fucking that pussy.” He illustrated his point by smacking his erection against her thigh. “It’s taunting me.”

She hoped she wasn’t too much of a mess as he rubbed himself against her slit.

“Just a little bit more,” he decided, entering her slowly. “Fucking _Christ_.”

His fingers bruised her hips as his thrusts grew more and more purposeful, and he stopped only when his thighs tensed as though he was about to come.

“Are you ready?”

She nodded against the pillow, fingers grasping towel as the first blow landed. She cried out but in surprise rather than pain; it was a light blow.

“ _Count._ ”

He tugged at the collar, just enough to jerk her neck back slightly and pull her back to attention. She drifted off into blankness if she didn’t intentionally focus.

“One.”

He hit the same spot, harder this time.

“Two.”

Smack smack smack. “Three four five.”

Smack. “Six.”

She could feel the bruise starting to form, as she knew it would; she bruised from nothing.

Smack. “Seven.” Smack. “Eight.”

He started light and grew in intensity until he landed one so forceful she had to take a few deep breaths, coming back to earth with the endorphin fireworks.

“Seventeen.”

When he pushed inside her again, she realized how much wetter she had become, every blow having sent shockwaves of sensation straight through her clit, confirming that this was truly doing something for her. As soon as she relaxed into his steady rhythm, he pulled out again.

“Eighteen nineteen twenty.”

While her mouth continued to count, her mind could only register the delicious fusion of pain and pleasure.

“Thirty-one thirty-two.”

He didn’t penetrate her that time, just rubbed his length against her sex, again betraying how wet she was. Her hips shuddered against him.

“Thirty-six.”

“That’s how old you turned, right?”

She bit back a _Shut up, Mulder_.

He entered her fully in one savage thrust.

Fist in her hair, he urged her head back. The edges of the leather bit into her, the band pushing against her throat enough to make her work a little harder for every breath.

One hand in her hair, one hand on her hip, he fucked her with a determined purpose. It didn’t take long until he was close again. She thought he was continuing to edge himself when he pulled out, his seed spurted over her lower back in imitation of the wax.

When he left the bed, she dropped her hips, sinking her whole body into the mattress, feeling vaguely cheated that he didn’t come inside her. She imagined that was how lottery addicts felt. You can’t win if you don’t try.

He returned with a warm, damp washcloth, and when he finished wiping his ejaculate off her lower back and ass, he started on her inner thighs. She wondered if he had deliberately chosen to come _on_  rather than _in_ her to have an excuse to clean her up without drawing attention to it.

He didn’t untie her blindfold until he returned from discarding the washcloth—God, did she want to know? Before he lifted the fabric from her eyes, he warned her, “Open your eyes slowly, honey. Let them adjust.”

Reflexively, her eyes snapped open, and she immediately regretted it. Though the room was lit only by lamp, it still felt like an assault. She had no choice but to scrunch her eyes shut again until she adjusted to the light through her lids. To his credit, Mulder didn’t laugh or otherwise indicate an “I told you so.”

She blinked until she was properly adjusted to the room, and her jaw fell. The shock of red was a new attack on her eyes. A chest painted with blood, stark against her complexion. On areas of his focus—her nipples, between her breasts, swirling around her navel like a constellation of his own creation—her skin was reddened, adding another depth of color to his painting.

“I tried to sign my name on your thigh.”

She squinted. “I don’t see it.”

“It turns out it’s not easy to write in candle wax.”

He frowned and chewed his lip, appraising his mess as he blindly unlocked the cuffs. She rubbed her wrists, twisted them in circles and felt the stiffness melt away. There were red impressions but nothing that would last through the night.

Wax, it turned out—as anyone who gave the concept more than a fleeting thought would have said—was a mess.

“What now?” she asked, looking down at the layer of paraffin coating her torso.

“Now we clean you up.”

“You made the mess, you take care of it.” She shot him a grin and settled back against the pillows, hands behind her head.

“That’s very bossy for someone wearing a collar,” he said dryly.

He started picking at her chest with his fingernails but quickly grew frustrated as the wax broke off into pea-size chunks, pulled a pocket knife from his bag.

Her spine prickled.

“Is this okay?”

She told him yes and held her breath as he lowered the blade to her breastbone. She lay spread-eagled, a sacrifice on the altar of towels.

The knife scraped at fresh goosebumps as it traveled from heart to guts, and she couldn’t look away. He sorted the wax into small piles like he was cutting lines of cocaine on her chest, swept them into his palm and emptied into the wastebasket. Even in the places he finished, she could see bits of it sticking to her skin—a hint of unnatural red here and there, a strange texture as she ran a finger along her rib cage.

She idly picked at some of the wax stuck his chest hair and found the feeling of removing the wax satisfying like peeling a sunburn. Melissa always got viscerally disgusted if she peeled her sunburns in front of her—and the first bonafide sunburn of summer was an annual tradition for the red-haired Irish in California.

She lifted a penny-size circle of wax from her nipple, regarded it and placed it in Mulder’s hand.

They worked together to pick off the rest of the wax until there were no more chunks left, just tiny granules of crimson paraffin. He suggested she take a shower as he unbuckled the collar from behind her neck without prompting. When it was gone, she missed the simplicity it represented.

In the bathroom, she stood on the toilet and angled the mirror so she could see her rear. A massive bruise was just starting to form and would be on full display by tomorrow. She didn’t even think he hit her hard enough to do that kind of damage. There were pink patches on her chest—minor burns, already starting to fade. She turned back to look at her rear again, lightly pressed her fingers into the subtle discoloration and knew she would be feeling it on the drive home tomorrow.

Something occurred to her: she had no idea if this kind of sex was new to Mulder. Her cheeks grew hotter as she thought of him with one of the women from his past, restrained and lovingly tortured. Was he ever Sir to Diana or Phoebe? Did he place a collar on another willing supplicant? When he fantasized about making love to her in the past, was this what he had pictured? For some reason, it was vitally important that this thing belonged only to the two of them. The thought sent a fresh wave of blood below, as though her cunt was blushing. She wondered if he would tell her the truth if she asked him.

In the shower, she scrubbed at her skin until her entire body was pink. Until she stopped feeling like she was free-falling.

When she returned, she found Mulder carefully folding one of the towels.

“Um, some of the wax is really in there,” he said sheepishly. “That’s going to be interesting for the cleaning staff.”

She delicately peeled it open and grimaced. “Not if we destroy the evidence.”

He gave her a wicked smile. “That’s my girl.”

She changed into her night clothes—a pilfered t-shirt and pair of boxers she started opting for rather than her pajama sets, now that she wasn’t perpetually preparing for middle-of-the-night interruptions from a platonic colleague. Over that, she slung her trench coat and edged into her slippers.

“You look like you’re about to show up at my door with a surprise.”

She feigned innocence. “What’s the surprise?”

He chuckled as he closed the door behind them.

The dumpster couldn’t have been further from their room. She hugged the towel to her chest under her coat, concealing it in case they ran into hotel staff.

“Lift it,” she hissed, and he held the top of the dumpster open while she tossed in the towels. She giggled as he dropped it loudly, the sound seeming to echo against the walls of the deserted hotel.

“We’re definitely getting charged for that.”

“Worth it,” she assured him.

She let out a squeak as he pulled her into a deep embrace, picking her up and twirling her in that way old movies taught her romance was supposed to look. When he set her down, he attacked her face with kisses, sending her into a laughing fit.

“Let’s get back before we call too much attention to ourselves,” she said when the giddiness subsided, turning back to the direction of their room.

He responded by slapping her ass, the sound reverberating in the chilly night. She couldn’t help yelping.

“I didn’t hit you _that_ hard,” he said, confused.

“You, uh, hit my bruise.”

“Oh? How bad are talking..?” As he drifted off, she stared at him, puzzled as to why his tone had changed so dramatically.

For one horrifying second, Dana saw Skinner but it was another stocky, balding man looking at them with open disgust. Mulder’s eyes flicked to her as she visibly jumped, feeling foolish in her porny trench coat with her bare legs.

“I hope you two are enjoying your stay,” the hotel manager said, appraising them both as he finished locking the office door.

“You bet.” Mulder put his arm around her and steered her back toward their room.

She swallowed a “sorry,” but as soon as they were out of earshot she collapsed into laughter again. She was mortified in a way she didn’t realize she still could be in her mid-thirties, having generally stopped caring what people thought of her.

“I hope you know we can never return here for work, right?”

“Please. This place is far out of the Bureau budget.”

“Thank God.” Knowing her luck, it would be a case that took them back to this hotel. She blanched at the thought of having to present her badge to that man, crossing her fingers he would deign to treat her respectfully.

Mulder held the door open for her. She took a moment to admire him—the easy way he leaned on the door frame, slinging his weight on one hip, his expression full of humor.

The relief was palpable as the door close behind them, sealing shut their private sanctuary.


	10. Brat

“You know what you are?”

“Hmm?” Dana absently twirled a pen as Mulder regarded her over tented fingers.

“ _You_ …are a brat.”

“I’m a Navy brat.” She dragged her words, narrowing her eyes at him.

“I didn’t say ‘Navy brat.’ I said ‘brat.’”

She never liked that term, even when used to refer to her upbringing. It reminded her of girls she didn’t like in school, and kids she didn’t enjoy interacting with as an adult. “How’s that?” she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

She knew what he was referring to. Of course she did.

“You have been trying to provoke a response out of me.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve been coming in to work with these, these little _outfits_ , and it’s all part of your game.”

“I don’t play games.”

Both their eyes flickered down to her prominent cleavage.

“If you want to talk about playing games, I seem to recall you making a sport of tossing sunflower seeds down my shirt while I was driving last week.” He only stopped when she threatened to purchase a wardrobe that exclusively consisted of turtlenecks.

“Correction, Scully. I was tossing sunflower seeds into your extremely prominent cleavage which has been on full display lately.”

“And then in office later you stuck a pencil right between breasts.”

“I had to confirm it would stand up by itself. I wouldn’t expect you of all people to stand between a man and his scientific inquiries.”

“Oh, is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“And besides,” he went on, “I only did it because you were doing that thing where you lean over the desk just like so, and you use your arms to push your tits together, like this.” He leaned across the desk, his lips pushed into a pout, all puppy-dog eyes and faux innocence. “Because—even after all that talk about propriety at work—you continue to tease me. Need I remind you over the “Super Freak” incident?”

“That was an isolated incident.” She tried to bury a smile. “Super Freak” came on the radio while they were en route to a crime scene. He instantly started to sing along, crooning directly at her at stop lights—“It’s green, Mulder,” she had to tell him twice before, exasperated, she changed the station. When he protested, she asked him if he wanted to test just how much of a freak she was, reaching to rub the front of his slacks. He slapped her hand away but the damage was done. He had to tuck into the elastic of his boxers before they left the car.

“No, it’s part of a pattern of behavior. Because you, my dear, are a _brat_. Do you know what happens to brats?”

She cocked her head.

“They get punished.”

“Is that so?”

“They are asking for it.”

“That’s a troubling turn of phrase.”

“Not for brats. Brats have their own language. Sometimes it’s just body language, like how you are sitting right now. Legs crossed in such a way to display as much skin as possible, which I can only assume is a conscious or subconscious way to attract me to you.”

“Is it working?”

“Why don’t you come over here and find out?”

He leaned back in his chair, his legs still crossed. Check and mate.

Her chair made a jarring noise as it scraped the floor.

He was utterly impassive as she stood in front of him and reached between his thighs. Her fingertips hadn’t grazed his pants before his hand was on her wrist. The bracelet cut into her as he twisted her arm behind her back, turned her and shoved her face down on the desk.

Two swift, powerful blows—one on each ass cheek.

“You deserve more than that,” he said tonelessly. She heard him sink into his chair behind her.

She spent a long minute bent over the desk, her rear throbbing, her body flushed with adrenaline and arousal, hoping to God they weren’t being bugged right now.


	11. Altered States, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This chapter was falling flat, so I had to scrap what I had already written and start over. It's better for it. 
> 
> CW: face slapping, spanking, sub drop, domestic violence mention

Mulder was hunched over his coffee table, squinting at crime scene photos over a fanned stack of familiar documents. He didn’t notice Dana’s arrival until she shut the door, intentionally loud.

“You’re early.” There was an irritable bite to his words.

Considering how to play it, she hesitated, licked her lips, wishing they didn’t feel so dry. His annoyance seemed genuine, the result of profiling concentration.

She closed the distance between them, situating herself between his parted thighs.

“The case is closed,” she said. “And you weren’t fighting that a few hours ago.”

“There’s something there, Scully.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, his glasses making a slow descent.

“ _Over_ ,” she emphasized.

She pulled her sweater over her head and let the cashmere brush his legs. _Brat_ , she thought, allowing the word infuse her with playful, petulant energy.

His eyes roamed from her navel to her chest and softened; she could pinpoint the moment when profiler mode clicked off.

“How do I get any work done?” he asked himself, idly dragging a finger up her sternum. His cock twitched, visible through denim.

“You don’t.”

She delicately transplanted the glasses from atop his nose to the crime scene photos she avoided looking at. It was not time to be reminded of work. _You really know how to set a mood, Mulder_ , she thought, unzipping her slacks and shimmying them down her hips.

When she lifted her head, he was holding out the collar, having pulled it from God-knows-where. Without prompting, she straddled his lap and allowed the cool leather to be fastened around her throat.

He caught her bra as it dropped and flung it over her desk chair. A casual flag declaring their sexual relationship to any intruders.

Now that her breasts were bare, they ached to be touched. She sighed as he obliged, magnetically drawn to her chest.

His tender caresses didn’t last. He squeezed her breasts so violently she gasped, tugged forward, so close his face swam before her, and she found it impossible to look him in the eye.

“Did you come all this way to get fucked or spanked?” The dangerous edge in his voice pinged her center.

“Both,” she choked out.

“Get on your knees and earn it, _brat_.” He spat the word like a slur.

Her scalp prickled as she dropped to her knees. Every muscle was wound tight with anticipation.

He pulled his shirt off as she fumbled with his zipper, tugging his jeans and boxers until they pooled around his ankles.

“Good girl,” he murmured as she wrapped two fists around his cock, keeping her touch light and her eyes focused on his.

He leaned back, ceding control to her.

She didn’t look away, even as she lowered her head, swirled her tongue around the tip of his erection, flicking lightly under the glans.

“ _Christ_ ,” he groaned, threading his fingers through her hair, rewarding her with a gentle head massage. She slipped his cock between wet lips and hummed with pleasure.

He massaged her temples, his palms sliding into place under her cheekbones.

She was struck with a thought: _What would it feel like if he slapped my face?_ It would be humiliating, degrading, the kind of line he implicitly vowed never to cross, like calling her a bitch. Thinking about it sent a flush down her neck that she couldn’t ignore.

He pulled her head down.

When she surfaced, suppressing a gag, he wrapped a fist around the base and slapped her face with his cock.

_A sign._

He landed, heavy and dripping with her saliva, on her other cheek.

The primal degradation from the feel of his heavy erection slapping her was heady, but it was just that. She wanted more. She wanted him to hurt her. She had released herself down this rabbit hole, and she was desperate to see how far he would take it. How far he would take her.

“Do it for real,” she blurted, her words almost cut off by his continued assaults.

“What d’you mean?”

She could tell from his expression that he already knew.

“Slap my face.”

She must look insane, a drooling, grinning mess. Still, she stared him down, challenging.

“Are you sure?” His voice was hesitant, but he wiped his wet hand on jeans.

“Do it,” she said as he caressed her cheek. The fist in her hair released.

His eyes darted nervously between her own. Holding her head in place, he tapped her cheek.

She rolled her eyes. “Do it like you mean it.”

The second slap sent her reeling. Her head lolled forward and back as the initial dizziness faded, leaving an eruption of pleasure in its wake. Every nerve in her body lit and primed.

He was staring at his palm, as though he couldn’t believe he had gone through with it.

“Do it again,” she implored.

He left a matching open-handed slap on her other cheek.

She closed her eyes, inhaling as she was flooded by the rush, as though she could draw it deeper into her.

She took a moment to consider the sting on her face, decided it might have been enough to leave a temporary red impression but certainly not enough to bruise.

She tilted her jaw and wordlessly asked for another, and another.

When she put him back in her mouth, he felt new, different somehow. Maybe he was. She was just meeting this new Fox Mulder, the man who slapped her face with his hands and his cock because she liked it.

 _Thank you_ , she tried to tell him as she relaxed her throat, finding it easier to receive him. She lost herself in the meditative trance of pleasing him until his thighs started to trembled, and he pushed her head up with a groan.

She sat back on her heels, reveling in the mindlessness of waiting for instruction.

“Bend over my lap.”

It took a moment to gather his meaning. “You mean..?” She traced a horizontal line in the air.

“Sure do,” he answered with a grin.

The position was less intuitive than she expected. She tucked her legs and gingerly wound her way down until she could drape her body over his. The sticky leather kept her firmly in place.

He made small adjustments—shoulders up, butt down, legs apart. When he got her where he wanted her, he pulled up her panties, cutting into her swollen sex.

She flushed as he pushed the fabric aside to inspect her, dragging a finger down her slit to find no resistance, parting her folds, lightly touching everywhere but her clit.

It wasn’t until she started grinding in frustration that the first blow on her ass landed. She yelped, more from surprise than pain, as he began a light drum that spread warmth through her limbs.

She relaxed against his lap, floating a few inches above her body as he started to gradually smack her harder, harder, harder, skirting the edge of _too much_ before returning back to warm-up taps.

As always, the air in his apartment was a paradox of pleasant staleness. She breathed in the scent of clean sweat and leather. The bubbling fish tank provided a steady background melody to his drum beats.

As he started to hit her harder, she encouraged him with her moans. He thundered on her with unyielding palms, the impact reverberating through her deepest muscle tissue until he had to pause and shake his hands.

When he picked up where he left off, she could barely feel the blows; they were just the delivery system for the fireworks decorating her mind. What had she done without _this_ all her life? How had she not known this was what she was chasing?

It was the anxious edge in Mulder’s voice that shook her out of her trace.

“Scully? Jesus, Scully.”

In her sluggish mind, she rewound the tape of the last few moments and realized her moans started coming out like sobs. Worse yet, her cheeks were wet. She touched her face and examined her fingers like she expected to see blood.

Tears were still slipping out, despite her best efforts. She rubbed her eyes, the gesture of a sleepy child, trying shut the floodgates. When she opened her eyes again, kaleidoscope patterns of light danced before her.

“Look at me.”

Why did he sound like that? She could tell from her peripheral vision he was abuzz with nervous energy.

She sat up, finding her necklace pressed into her collarbone. She peeled it off, entranced by the sharp red line it left.

She was spectacularly high.

When she finally forced herself to look at him, she hoped for sweetly concerned eyes, anything but what she actually saw: an expression of raw terror.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, swiping at her face. The anger came swiftly and seemingly out of nowhere. She just had a goddamn epiphany, and here he was, looking at her like a victim. She didn’t have it in her to tend to his feelings.

“I’m _fine_ ,” she repeated, as he remained frozen.

Why wouldn't he stop looking at her like that? There was disgust there, but was it aimed and himself or her? And what was worse?

She wanted him to apologize for misreading her, to pull her into his arms, to be silently held and absolved of speaking until she had time to float back down to reality. Instead, she was plummeting down to earth, and nothing was going to catch her fall.

The distance between them thrummed.

She knew that look. It was the look of a man who just thought he abused a woman.

She tasted bile.

“You don’t look fine,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Even though her skin had been so thoroughly heated, she was suddenly freezing. She reached for today’s white Oxford button down from the arm of the couch and pulled it around her, willing her muscles to stop shivering, to stop being so _dramatic_.

He silently handed her the blanket he kept on his couch, and she gratefully pulled it around her, giving him a smile that must have looked as fake as it felt.

She no longer felt like she was falling. No, now she was just sinking.

“Can you get me a glass of water?” she asked.

She didn’t realize she had been holding her breath until he turned his back to her.

She should leave. Yes, she should return home to a long bath and finish that bottle of merlot that would start to go bad any day now. She didn’t have any regrets about what they had been doing, but that might change if she spent the rest of the evening letting him cast his darkness over them.

She moved to grab her bra when Mulder’s voice made her jump.

“Leaving?” he asked tentatively.

She shook her head.

“I scare you,” he said, the words cracking.

“You just startled me.”

She was still lost in the miasma overwhelming, confusing emotions that she couldn’t understand. But the fear she read in his expression diminished her desire to escape.

“You just startled me.” She accepted the water and returned to the couch, willing her hands to stop shaking as the water almost sloshed over the lip of the glass.

“So you aren’t leaving?” he asked evenly.

She croaked, “No.” She busied herself by downing the glass of water in under a minute, still avoiding his eyes. She hadn’t realized until that moment she was actually quite thirsty.

Rehydrated and refocused, she was able to squint through the fog in her brain. She still wasn’t sure what she was feeling. Something like whiplash dragged down from the high of the spanking by the palpable fear she read in her partner. How was it possible to feel this awful after an experience so positive?

She swallowed, prepared to explain the tears were part of a cathartic reaction, that she was flying high until she wasn’t, that she was stunned and overwhelmed by the crash.

As she opened her mouth to speak, the room went black, a hush falling over the apartment as the hum of appliances abruptly stopped. The fish tank, which must be running on some kind of battery, was the only source of light and sound.

Mulder opened his mouth as though to speak, but instead reached for his gun, tucking it in the back of his jeans. He touched her knee briefly, a gesture that seemed to say _talk later_. She wanted to tell him to stop, that it was an old building and this happened all the time, but he was already dressed and out the door.


	12. Altered States, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: We will be back to our regularly scheduled smut next chapter :)

Bits and pieces of Mulder’s conversation with his neighbor floated through the cracked door, loud enough for Dana to catch the gist until the noise of the faucet drowned it out as she refilled her water glass.

His paranoia was irritatingly infectious. She should be thinking about all that was left unsaid between them—her real anxieties—not wondering if a semi-routine power outage was _something_. She leaned against the kitchen counter and gulped more water.

Mulder poked his head in. “I’m going to talk to the super.”

“What for? It’s a downed power line.”

“Just need to double check.”

“I can name five separate instances where the power has gone out in your building, just in the time I’ve known you,” she pointed out, knowing the futility of her words as she said them.

“What exactly is your point?”

Her hackles raised at his tense tone. “My _point_ is, do you have any reason to believe this might be…something else?”

“Can’t be too careful.”

She scoffed into her glass and milked it for the remaining drop.

He merely shrugged and gave her an impatient look. No point in arguing with him when he was in that kind of mood. He tapped the door frame. “Third drawer to your left. Candles.”

“Do you want me too—” The door shut before she finished her sentence.

Though she didn’t like admitting it to herself, she had been looking forward to a little sanctioned snooping in pursuit of the candles, something to occupy her until Mulder stopped stalling their inevitable conversation. She sighed and collected an armful of candles. They were all in various stages of use, and she was impressed by the sheer volume of them. She let them drop on his coffee table in a huff and watched impassively as two tea candles slipped out of their aluminum casing and made a rolling escape under the couch.

Dana lit a single pillar for herself and left all the rest in an untidy pile. If anything about tonight was salvageable, at least they could set a romantic mood.

She looked around and saw the ghosts of the hours in his apartment on cases. The late nights over pizza, Mulder teasing her for blotting her slices with napkins. Hours of friendly but heated arguments. Falling asleep on his shoulder twenty minutes into whatever movie they agreed upon. Waking up tucked under a blanket. All those innocent hours, unsure where she stood with him but knowing in her gut it was somewhere central.

Now, she was wearing the shirt he wore to work, and her face smelled faintly of his cock, and his fucking collar was on her neck. She felt a new sense of ownership over him like she was finally claiming her stake.

In her victory prowl, she trailed her fingers over the spines of his books, his tapes, let the drawer of his other tapes “accidentally” slide open. Nothing new, she noted. She flipped the stacks of files on his desk under her thumb—all that homey clutter of paper and words. The kind of detritus with which they both liked to decorate their nests. Surrounding themselves with the comfort of infinite stimulation for minds that didn’t still easily. It was all so achingly _him_.

Holding out the candle, his shirt billowing around her like a Victorian nightgown, she slipped into his bedroom. Blinds shut to the light of the city, it swallowed her in its darkness.

The reflection of the candlelight caught in his ceiling mirror. It also picked up the corner of a blue and white book poking out from under his bed. Her curiosity overcame her, and she knelt beside the bed.

Two books were hidden there. The larger one was called _Screw the Roses, Send Me the Thorns_. The smaller one, _Different Loving_ , featured a provocative image of a feminine, stilettoed foot. They were both dog-eared.

She dropped the books on his bed and sat cross-legged. The smaller book had far too small print to read in the dim light without her glasses. She flipped through the larger one, amused by the 1970s Church of Satan aesthetic of the images, all occult robes and sacrificial bondage.

Her heart swelled. Those books must have been what weighed down his bag at the sex shop. He’d been doing _research_.

Where the hell was he, anyway? It must have been at least fifteen minutes by now. He’d left his cell phone behind, and he failed to take a jacket, but that only indicated he hadn’t intentionally abandoned her. Hardly comforting.

She considered leaving the books out as a point of entry for conversation but opted to return them where she found them. With a renewed determination to find Mulder and clear the air between them, she slipped back into her sweater and slacks, splashed some water on her face and rubbed away the crumbs of mascara under her eyes.

She almost opened the door when she realized she was still wearing the collar, and a jolt of panic shot through her as she thought of being seen in public wearing it. She left it on the coffee table, crowning the case file he’d brought home.

The super was on the first floor, a cell phone pressed against his ear. She’d seen him in passing: a small man with a bulbous nose, puffs of dull grey hair clinging to just the sides of his head. He held up a finger to Dana as soon as he saw her approaching, repeated said, “Uh huh” to someone on the phone. He didn’t address her until he lowered the antenna and stashed his phone in his back pocket with what appeared to be deliberate slowness.

He asked in a gravelly voice, reminiscent more of cigars than cigarettes, “What can I do you for?”

“The man on the fourth floor? Six foot, brown hair.”

The man eyed her carefully, which made her uneasy. Surely he didn’t hear noises from their apartment earlier…Surely he couldn’t see the evidence of what they had just done.

“Did you see him?” she asked tersely, smoothing her hair.

“He was here ten minutes ago,” the man said. “Real paranoid. Asking all kinds of questions.”

“Where did he go?”

“Outside somewhere. Say, are you his girlfriend?”

She was taken aback by the question, preparing to equivocate until she remembered she was not on the job.

“Yes,” she said.

“Can you ask him to knock it off with the basketball? Neighbors been complaining. _Again_.”

“I’ll tell him.” She gave the super a strained smile. “Thanks for your help,” she said as she turned to go outside, the cold air a shock to her system.

To her left, a woman smoked a cigarette. Her bleached hair swirled in the wind. She wobbled slightly, coming to attention when Dana asked if the woman had seen anyone matching Mulder’s description.

“Went inside a minute ago.”

“How did he seem?”

“Fine.” The woman looked confused by the question “He bought beer across the street. Why, did he do something?” Her eyes widened, and her ankle rolled under her wedges before she righted herself.

“No, nothing like that. Thanks.”

The elevator echoed as she tapped her foot. When it finally opened, she almost ran into that nice old lady from down the hall. Dana could never remember her name. She was wearing a faded sweatshirt with kittens, and Dana felt like an asshole for startling her.

She apologized, and the woman put her hand on Dana’s arm.

“Are you Scully by any chance?” the old woman asked.

“Why?” The question set her on edge.

“The guy in 42, he was calling for a Scully.”

She thanked the woman, apologized again and broke into a brisk jog to get to his apartment just as he called for her again.

Mulder came out of the bedroom, and she saw his muscles relax the moment he saw her.

“Scully…” He pulled her into his arms. “You left your cell phone.”

“So did you.”

“I thought you—”

“I was looking for you.”

She put her cheek on his chest, on the spot that belonged to her, his heart beating against her temple. He squeezed her back. It was what they needed at the moment: no words, just touch.

“You went on a beer run?” she asked when she finally peeled herself away from him. “How do you intend to keep them cool?”

He indicated a bag of ice in the early stages of melting on his counter. “I figured if you were staying…” He unscrewed the cap off a bottle of Shiner Bock and handed it to her. She accepted, waited for him to arrange the remaining bottles in a popcorn bowl filled with ice, and followed him into the living room.

They sat on his couch, facing each other, not knowing where to begin.


	13. Screw the Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: Anal sex

In the ceiling mirror, Dana watched her fingers wind snake-like through her partner’s thick hair. Not for the first time, she wished she had a chance to do that when then there was more to grab. She told herself to count her blessings, studied the way his lean muscles shifted as he pleasured her, the way his deltoid flexed when he slid two fingers inside her, confident she would be ready to accommodate. As usual, he was right.

Despite his valiant efforts and the extraordinary visual of his head buried between her legs, she was having trouble focusing. Three beers took the edge off their earlier conversation but left her body slightly numbed.

The things she’d told him. If she were any younger, if he were a different man, she wouldn’t be here. She would’ve made her escape as soon as the night turned dark. That had been her first impulse, after all.

Instead, they’d talked. She waited for the look, the look that would propel her out of his apartment and to a lonely drive home. The look of the Madonna becoming the Whore in his eyes. But it never came. Only relief in his expression as she admitted to her darkest desires.

And the way he gripped the collar, his knuckles white, making a concerted effort to keep his voice level. _This can’t be the reason I lose you._

_It won’t be._

The promise of inevitability that hummed, unspoken, between them.

“Is everything okay?”

She startled at the sound of his voice, her pelvis hitting his chin, stubble scraping her.

“Hmm?”

“You’re not usually so, uh, quiet.”

“Everything’s okay,” she promised, pulling his head against her. “But it won’t be if you stop.” Her moan was authentic, but she exaggerated a bit for his benefit.

Still, she couldn’t get it out of her head: Mulder fidgeting with a loose thread on his jeans, not meeting her eyes as he said, _I’m afraid I like it for the wrong reasons._ She had explained to him that arousal was morally neutral as long as there was mutual consent. And she’d immediately regretted her blitheness. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, a story she hoped he would one day share with her. At that moment, she knew she had no choice but to tell him her truth, all of it. It would have been easier to admit she was self-destructing than that submitting to him filled something essential in her. Something she could only share with him. Who else could she trust like that?

When they had finally said what needed to be said, there was only one thing left to do to restore balance in their relationship. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom, where he arranged a plethora of tea candles around the bed. The word _cherished_ came to mind as he undressed her. The word kept knocking around in her mind as he dropped to his knees to worship her body like a supplicant before a goddess. And still, as he lowered her on the bed…

Yes, God, yes. He was doing that thing with his lips that drove her wild. She didn’t exaggerate the next moan, but she still wanted more.

“Fuck me, Mulder,” she demanded.

He ignored her, sucked at her clit as he shook his head.

“Goddammit,” she panted. “I want you inside me when I come.”

That got his attention. Within seconds, his elbows were resting on either side of her head, and he filled her. She pulled him down for a kiss, clawing his shoulders.

He drew back, pulling her legs over his shoulders. She told him how good he felt, how much she loved his cock—because it was the truth, and because of the way he reliably broke into a self-satisfied grin. He muttered about giving it to her as he pounded into her with renewed effort.

When she grew tired of being held in place, she pressed her heels into his chest, pushing him until he sprawled on his back, his head now at the foot of the bed. She climbed him, found her place, and started a slow rhythm.

The sight of Mulder wetting his fingers between plump lips was intoxicating. And, bless him, the man had a talent for multitasking. His fingers found her clit as his thumb was swallowed easily by her ass. Her muscles had never been more pliant, more ready to receive him, and as soon as he started to move, she was bucking against him, crying obscenities until the last contraction of her orgasm passed.

“I want to try it,” she said, panting, leaning over him, the ends of her hair brushing his forehead.

“Try what?”

“Anal sex.”

“ _Oh._ ”

“Unless you don’t want to…” She had been reasonably sure it was something he was into-if his answers on the list and his video collection was any indication. She hadn’t anticipated his reluctance, but, to be fair, her desire to try it now had surprised even her.

“If you want to,” he said slowly. “Then, yeah, I really do.”

“Do you have any lubricant?”

She stifled a giggle as he fumbled with the bottle he retrieved. _Adorable_ , she thought.

“So, uh, how do you want to do this?” he asked as he poured a generous dollop of lube into his palm.

“Same position as before, maybe? That way, I have control.”

“You’re ready now?” he asked, laying back with his head on a pillow.

“I think so,” she said as she swung her legs around him.

She had been ready just a minute ago, but she was starting to second guess herself. A fresh chorus of anxieties started in her brain as she pressed him against her opening. She willed her muscles to relax, but the sliver of pain that shot through her as he edged in did not help. She thought she had done everything right. They were using plenty of lube, and her body felt ready not long ago. But why the hell had she assumed she could accommodate his penis just because she could handle a thumb? She pressed him in further, but it didn’t feel any better. She’d overestimated her own abilities, and in doing so given up the possibility of vaginal sex—he made it a little further—until he took a shower or put on a condom. And they’d never used condoms before, and if he happened to have them and they weren’t expired…She wouldn’t be able to get that out of her head. What came into her thinking this was a good idea? After everything that day, the last thing she needed was another sexual encounter that started incredibly and ended awkwardly.

_Relax_ , she told herself. But when she opened her eyes and looked down at Mulder, his brow was knitted with worry. Even he knew it had been a terrible idea.

“Baby,” he said, his voice gentle. “This isn’t working.”

“We just need to go slow,” she insisted. It was going to work, it had to. She didn't want there to be anything she couldn't offer him.

“Baby, stop.” He slid out from under her and knelt before her, cupping her face between his hands. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

She told him she did, but she wasn’t any less nervous.

“You just need to get warmed up,” he said, kissing her. As if by magic, she felt some of her tension start to dissolve. “Go on, get on your stomach.”

She put her head on the pillow, freshly warmed by him and smelling faintly of his shampoo. The bed shifted, and his erection caught on her curves as he settled himself over her, catching her earlobe between his teeth.

“I’m gonna make your ass feel so good, baby,” he whispered, raising goosebumps.

He trailed his lips down her spine until he reached the small of her back and his tongue split the crack of her ass. He parted her cheeks, gave her a devouring kiss. It felt exactly as she imagined. Like his fingers, but better. More intimate than his tongue in her cunt. Her body opened to him, muscles melting like butter. He twisted inside her like he was trying to corkscrew his way into some essential part of her.

“Touch yourself,” he instructed, his voice muffled.

As she made contact with her clit, the sensations implied like the volume on her pleasure was cranked up to max. Her toes curled.

When he could tell she was getting close, he lifted his head and swatted her hand away as she groaned in dismay. He gave her one last sloppy lick for good measure before straightening and pulling her up to her knees.

She heard the squish of lube and felt something press against her. His fingers. One followed shortly by a second. As before, she had that wondrous sensation of her body opening to receive him. He started to slowly fuck her, and she almost sobbed when he reached to touch her oversensitive clit.

He leaned over her, enveloping her body, his hot breath by her ear.

“You’re going to tell me if we need to stop,” he said in a low voice. “If I find out you let me hurt you, I’m going to be very disappointed. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I won’t.”

“Are you ready?”

“I think so.”

“You’re going to tell me if you’re not.”

“I’m ready. I want it. Please.”

Her confidence was validated. There was no pain that time, just a strange, unfamiliar sensation that translated quickly into pleasure as she started working her swollen clit. She was warmed with gratitude for that man and the magic he could work on her.

“Good girl,” he murmured, rewarded immediately by her muscles relaxing around him, welcoming him deeper.

She could feel every vein on his cock as he slid almost-out and slowly plunging back, every languid movement bringing her closer to another orgasm.

It was a different kind of pleasure than anything she’d experienced before, galvanizing a some cosmically primal part of herself. She hadn’t know sex _could_ feel that intimate, that she could feel so much body and soul.

And before she knew it—

“I’m all the way in, baby.” There was awe in his voice. “How does it feel?”

“It feels…it feels amazing,” she managed. Her moans were more guttural now, her clit throbbing painfully, the pain transmuting back to pleasure as the twin sensations danced in harmony.

“Come,” he demanded.

That was all it took. She chocked on a sob as the orgasm ripped through her body, so intense she could feel it in her bones.

He slipped out of her as she collapsed on her stomach, panting, ears ringing.

“I want to see you,” he said. “I want to see your face.”

She rolled over, saw that he looked as dazed as he looked happy, giving her a long look before pushing her knees back and— _goddammit, Mulder, please don’t make me explain you can’t go back to the other hole_ —reaching for the bottle of lube— _thank God_ —and finding her body still remembered to welcome him in her dreamy, boneless ecstasy.

He smoothed her hair away from her face before tugging at the roots, pushing her head back, the sting making her gasp.

“Watch yourself.” He nipped at her neck. “My cock so deep in your ass.”

She could hardly recognize the face in the mirror: feral eyes, skin pink from exertion, the candles casting a flickering glow. An image of her that would be preserved forever in his photographic memory.

“My dirty girl,” he muttered, licking a bead of sweat from her temple. “That ass feels so good. You’re doing so good.”

As she dug her nails into his back, he arched, pulling her deeper into his skin and dragging her nails down his back. She watched the streaks bloom red in the mirror.

“Aw, shit. I’m gonna come.” He looked almost bashful, and she wondered if that was because he felt it was too quick or because it was her nails that threw him over the edge. But he was gone, eyes screwed shut, lost in the ecstasy of her body.

He stayed inside her for a moment longer. He looked like he wanted to say something more, but all that came out was, “You.” He touched her cheek, gave her one lingering look before flopping on his back, leaving her with the relieving and disappointing absence of him.

They stared at themselves, too sweaty and spent to cuddle as the appliances came back to life in the other room. Neither of them made a move to turn on the lights; they’d long ago decided they were having a candlelit night.

“Hmm?” he asked as she smiled to herself.

“I was just thinking, I feel like I lost my virginity all over again tonight.”

“You’re telling me I just went where no man has gone before? The final frontier of Dana Katherine Scully?”

“I think you knew that already.”

“Well, I’m honored,” he said with surprising sincerity.

“I promise I won’t get too clingy,” she quipped.

“Glad we cleared that up. I was starting to worry.”

He gave her an enigmatic smile as he brought her hand to his lips.

She’d never felt more exposed as they lay with fingers entwined, watching their reflections in the flickering light. She’d never let a lover in more, physically or mentally. She kept waiting for the panic to rush in. The flight instinct, the inability to look him in the eye without seeing the naked truth of herself.

Only relief and peace. Even later, as they held each other in the shower, the baptismal water turning cold, comfortable in the pregnant silence that, for once, was filled only with things that didn't need to be said.


	14. In the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CW: dubcon/CNC dirty-talk, primal play, knife play

Dana had spent a lot of time running through the woods, but she always forgot how loud it was. Every footfall was a crushed leaf or a cracked twig, sometimes triggering the scurry of something nocturnal. She couldn’t run fast, not without the guiding beam of her flashlight. She was grateful for the full moon, but it cast deceptive shadows; she kept thinking her foot was about to hit something when instead it sank into nothing. A branch tore at her pantyhose. When she checked if it broke the skin, her fingers came away with blood. She tried to ignore how that set her heart beating even faster. She should _not_ be that excited by a little blood, but adrenaline and arousal were already coursing through her.

“60-second head start.” That was all he said when he parked the car. She had stared at him, unsure if he meant what she hoped.

“55, 54, 54…” he went on.

She’d slammed the door of the rental and bolted.

He was gaining on her already. She darted to the right and hid behind a large bush. She watched him pass and wondered if he was only pretending to look for her. He sniffed after her like a wolf before disappearing into the shimmery night.

When she no longer heard his footsteps, she took long strides, trying to avoid the dry branches that would give her away. A losing battle in the twisted shadows. She couldn’t gauge how much noise she was making over the pounding blood in her temples, every primal sense ignited.

_Crunch._

How the hell did he get behind her? He had only been out of her sight for a minute, and he was too big to be stealthy.

He launched himself at her. She almost evaded him, but he caught her wrist, shoved her against the tree, pressed a knee against her back as he collared her.

She wasn’t ready to give up the fight, though part of her wanted to sink with relief into the arms of the beast that chased and tackled her. The more she struggled, the more of his weight was pressed against her. When she bucked, her elbow made contact with his solar plexus. They broke character for a moment—“ow!” “sorry!”—and she took the opportunity to make her escape, a muttered curse following her.

She didn’t make it far. She couldn’t go fast, as a fall was practically inevitable in the traitorous lighting. He caught her easily and guided her back to the tree. Wool bark scratched gently at her cheek as she gave him one last, half-hearted thrash just for good measure. He sighed, his first sign of real annoyance. She allowed herself to freeze, prey surrendering to its fate.

“Should have worn thigh-highs,” he murmured, running a finger over the fabric covering the cleft of her buttocks. “Do you remember what I told you?”

“You said you were going to tear them off me.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he said, to the click of his knife.

He grasped the fabric between her legs in a fist. Once cut was all he needed to rend the material apart, the tear loud in the night. She shivered as the frigid air hit her bare skin.

He shoved her panties to the side and buried himself inside her. Only a taste. Five thrusts and she was bereft.

“Face me,” he ordered.

She pressed her back against the tree, felt its sturdiness support her unsteady muscles. He placed the blade under her chin and tipped her face up. Just the tiniest prick of pain, but it left her breathless.

He trailed it down her chest, catching the buttons of her top. “I should cut off all your clothes,” he said. “Make you drive home stark naked. Make you pay for your…insubordination.” He lifted her shirt from the waistband of her skirt with the tip of the blade before dragging it back up to her jaw. “Except I’d have to pay a cleaning fee on the rental, having such a wet mess on the front seat. Open your shirt.”

She glared at him as she undid the buttons on her top. When her shirt fell open, he gestured impatiently for her to open the front clasp of her bra. Her nipples were alert in the brisk air.

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and jerked her head back.

“You can’t wait to spread your legs for me.”

Adrenaline pumped in her veins, chest heaving like the ravished maidens in the romance novels she used to hide under her bed.

“They have a word for that.”

Pain and pleasure spread liquid from the roots of her hair like she was dipped in warm, electrified honey.

“Slut,” she whispered.

“That’s right,” he drawled, patronizing. “What do you think of that word?”

She gulped air. “Depends on who’s saying it.”

“What about when I say it?”

“I like it.”

Moonlight haloed his face, lighting his tousled hair. “What are you?” he asked, his voice alien in the lunar landscape of the forest.

“Your slut.”

His stern veneer cracked as he grinned. “My slut,” he agreed.

“Don’t fucking move,” he cautioned, the knife at her breast, flicking her nipple.

The blade ever so slightly dragged on her inner thigh as it made its journey to the band of her panties.

“Are you attached to these?” he asked confidentially, as though he were trying not to let his dominant persona hear.

She shook her head, and he jerked the knife. It took a few sawing motions before they dropped, exposing her to the cold night.

He folded the knife. A hand on her throat, the other making a teasing journey up her inner thighs.

“My slut can’t wait to spread her legs for me,” he observed as she involuntarily opened to him. “You can keep struggling if you want, but your body doesn’t lie. You need to get fucked.”

To make his point, he plunged two fingers inside her. She whimpered when he ripped his hand away. Held it up to the moon, parting his fingers to display a glittering, suspended string of her arousal. Smeared down her lips, down her chin, wiped the backs of his fingers down her neck. Streaks of chill, activated by the breeze.

When he put his fingers in her mouth, she sucked. Then she bit.

It only took one slap to stun her into complete submission, but she jutted her chin to provoke another. Her skin sang. She grinned, baring her teeth.

“Jesus, woman.” He tightened the grip on her jaw. “I can do whatever I want to you, and you’d fucking love it. Does your priest know how wet you get when I hurt you?”

Before she had time to react, two more slaps.

She was still reeling as his fingers returned to her cunt, and his thumb worked her clit. All the expert moves he knew would bring her right to the edge. And as she anticipated, he withdrew his hand the moment he could tell she was close.

“Be a good slut, and I might let you come.”

The next time he penetrated her mouth with his fingers, she dutifully sucked.

He took her by the hair again, pushing her down, down until her knees were pressed into the rough ground. The way he was backlit, she felt as though she were kneeling before a saint.

“Try and fight back now,” he murmured, his cock probing the corner of her mouth.

He craned his neck toward the moon as he fucked her face. She wondered if he was going to start howling.

“Does it scare you, baby?” he asked, yanking her head back. “What you let me do to you?”

“Yes,” she hissed.

She disappeared into the comfortable simplicity of being nothing more than a receptacle for his pleasure, losing track of time and self.

When he tired of using her that way, he forced her down on her back, skirt riding and dirt smearing the backs of her thighs, leaves and twigs tangling in her hair. His teeth on her nipples, on her neck, tugging at her bottom lip. She wrapped her legs around his back, his cock slipping effortlessly inside her. As they often did at that moment, they paused, appreciating how perfect their bodies felt together. Like he was God’s gift to her.

The moment was over. He pinned her wrists under one hand, the other slotting around her throat. It wouldn’t take much effort for him to kill her. She felt like paper, ready to crumble beneath him.

They moved in concert, making a new chorus of night noises: skin slapping, breathy moans, a mysterious tear of clothing, the sound of _wet_ humiliatingly loud. The air was rich with the smell of musk and dirt.

“Don’t ever forget who you belong to,” he growled, pressing and releasing against her neck.

“You,” she gasped. “I belong to you.”

He was overtaken, spilling into her as he panted in her ear. His hair tickled her cheeks, which still burned from his slaps. He made a couple half-hearted thrusts before he winced and resigned himself to pull out.

He straightened, swinging a leg across her lap and looming over her, his cock still swollen.

“Lick me clean.”

She knelt before him, lapping at him like a kitten, tasting the tang of them, the unique flavor of their bodies. When he was sufficiently pleased with her efforts, he tucked himself, the universal symbol of “we’re done here.”

“Don’t you have something you want to ask me?”

“I need to come.”

He leaned against a nearby tree and popped a sunflower seed in his mouth.

“Are you asking me or telling me?” he asked in a schoolmarmish voice.

She narrowed her eyes, simpered a little. “Please, can I come?”

He tilted his head, considering. Spat. The shell bounced off her knee. She pushed her legs together in a desperate effort to relive some of the pressure between her legs.

“Knock it off,” he chided, kicking her legs apart. “Keep your legs spread like a good slut.”

Crack. Spit. The next seed bounced off her bare thighs.

“Please, Sir. I need to.”

“You need to what?”

She was certain now the slightest touch would throw her over the edge. She throbbed. “I need you to let me come. Please let me come.”

He cracked another seed and moseyed back in front of her. She tilted her chin to face him, ashamed that her lower lip was trembling involuntarily.

“I have half a mind to see to it you don’t come for a week. You’ve been very naughty tonight. Resisting me left and right.”

_Damn him._

She dug her nails into his pants, clawing him warningly. Imploring him, “Please, let me come. Please, Sir.” An involuntary quaver in her voice. Part of her horrified he’d reduced her to this, but every other part ready to burst.

He picked her hands off him disdainfully. _If you’re that desperate_ , he seemed to say.

He crouched before her. “How do you want it, slut? Fingers or tongue?”

“Both.”

He chuckled. “Greedy little slut.”

As he knelt in the dirt, she leaned back against the trees, parting her thighs and exposing herself. Never one to make anything easy, he kissed up her legs, painting bouquets of bruises as she squirmed and whimpered.

And, finally, not caring about the taste of his own release, he burrowed his head between her legs, fingers joining the efforts as he lapped at her sex. Before long, she felt the molten buildup of her orgasm, and he lifted his head.

“But you said…,” she whined.

He chided, “Patience.”

She groaned with dismay as he repeated his slow, punishing journey from her knee up her thighs. Even when he made it all the way back up, he teased her, his tongue _everywhere but_.

A bitter wind carried her tortured moans, rustled hair and clothes and leaves.

“I suppose you’ve earned it,” he said before finally, finally fitting his lips back around her clit.

It hit her: a sleeper wave yanking her under the current. When she surfaced, her ears were ringing. She rested against the welcome support of the tree; it felt like the only thing keeping her from disintegrating into the earth.

He urged her forward and slid down behind her, and she sank into his arms like a warm bath. He started buttoning her shirt with an unusual delicacy.

“Thank you,” she murmured, her lips brushing his bicep.

“You’re cold.”

“I mean, for everything.”

“I should be thanking you. I hit the jackpot in the freaky girlfriend department.”

She told him to shut up with a laugh. Another breeze rolled over them, rattling the trees. Her legs were freezing, but every part of her body touching Mulder burned. An owl hooted.

“You know, in some Aboriginal Australian cultures, they believe owls inhabit the spirits of dead women and bats inhabit the spirits of dead men.”

“In that case, we gave the dead quite a show tonight.”

* * *

Dana stretched, unable to remember the last time she’d felt quite this rested. There was a strange pressure on her throat, fight for flight activated as her hand flew to her throat to touch the o-ring on her collar. The metal was warm, as though she’d been holding it in her sleep.

She hadn’t taken it off that night. On the drive home and checking into the motel, she flipped the collar on her jacket, holding it closed. In bed, she shivered away from him when he reached to remove it. In his arms, she drifted off into the drugged, dreamless sleep of the protected.

“We need to get a move on,” Mulder said by way of good morning. His hair was still dripping. Apparently, they were in a “skip the blowdryer” kind of hurry.

“Thanks for waking me,” she said grumpily, all hopes of a lazy morning-after evaporating.

“Sorry.” He grinned ruefully, looking up from his tie as he pinched it in place. “We weren’t in a hurry until a minute ago.”

“What happened?”

“Skinner just called. He wants us to catch an earlier flight back to D.C.”

“What’s the case?”

“I’ll tell you in the car.”

She slipped his t-shirt over her head and threw it at him, a little harder than she intended. He stumbled back, mock-wounded. She rolled her eyes and turned to the bathroom.

“Wait,” he said, soft.

She bowed her head as he unbuckled the collar. For a brief moment, she felt some of the moonlit magic of the night before. A tingle that grew from where his hand brushed against her neck.

He kissed her cheek and folded the collar into his suitcase like it was nothing more than a pair of boxers. The room was too bright, she was too naked. The daylight exposed all the stains in the carpet, the dust on the baseboards. She felt itchy.

In the bathroom mirror, she stared at herself. Her hair was doing a Robert Smith thing that would’ve played great in her college years. The unforgiving florescence brought out all the subtle imperfections in her skin. She poked at the tiny crow’s feet at the corner of her eyes, wondering if they were getting more pronounced. Laugh lines. She touched the corner of her mouth. Examined her body with forensic thoroughness. To her relief, Mulder managed not to add another five minutes to her morning routine by leaving hickeys on her neck. Other than the lines left by the collar, all evidence of their night would be easily concealed under her suit. Her thighs were a mess of bruises, legs cut and scratched.

She smiled as she thought of the tender way Mulder had dabbed at the cuts with alcohol wipes. The way he looked up at her, wordlessly asking for reassurance this was what she wanted.

When she was showered and coifed, she gave the hotel the usual once over for stray belongings before slipping on her pumps and grabbing her suitcase—which had been both thoughtfully and carelessly pack by Mulder.

Another drive, another flight, another case. Mulder told her the ins and outs as he drove. She massaged away the red impressions on her neck.


End file.
